


Le Déménagement

by a_good_soldier



Series: Moving In [1]
Category: Buzzfeed Unsolved (Web Series)
Genre: Developing Relationship, F/M, Fluff, Insecurity, M/M, Multi, Oral Sex, Pining, Polyamory, Threesome - F/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-22
Updated: 2018-09-25
Packaged: 2019-07-15 10:13:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 23,706
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16060982
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/a_good_soldier/pseuds/a_good_soldier
Summary: Ryan looks at his hands, which are shaking slightly. He looks at himself on screen, the catalyst for this realization; film-Ryan is looking at film-Shane with something obscene, something humiliating, something irrefutably romantic in his eyes. Two days ago, Ryan had laughed brighter and louder than he had in weeks at Sara’s plan to fuck up Shane’s next Ruining History episode.Ryan isn’t jealous of Shane and Sara. Ryan isn’t annoyed by Shane and Sara. And Ryan definitely isn’t craving some abstract idea of physical touch.Ryan has acrushon Shane and Sara.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> there is no excuse for this drivel haha
> 
> for those of you who don't want to use trusty wordreference dot com, the verb déménager means to move (either to move houses or to rearrange, e.g. to rearrange your furniture), and also informally can mean to be cool (a sick band might « déménage » for example). this is all to say that my title is incredibly pretentious because it feels only right for a fic about a threesome to be titled in french.
> 
> uhhhh if your name is in the tags i don't control you but i strongly urge you to turn back for your own health and safety. what is seen can never be unseen

Ryan sometimes isn't too great at being in touch with his feelings. That being said, he’s at a point where he has to come clean and admit the truth, at least to himself.

He’s totally jealous of Shane and Sara’s relationship.

It’s pretty embarrassing. He’d like to think that he’s a supportive friend who can put aside his own shit to be happy for his pals, but he really can’t deal with Shane and Sara being so _sweet_ all the time. And it’s not like they’re big PDA fans or anything, but the Instagram stories with the heart emojis, or Shane ruffling Sara’s hair as he walks past her to get coffee for himself and Ryan, are too much to handle. Ryan is experiencing some gut-clenching, cheek-flushing _feelings_ , because he’s a real jerk who’s jealous of his best friends being happy together.

Sara drops a kiss on Shane’s head as she walks by, and Ryan feels like a fucking monster when she waves at him, too, and all he can do is smile weakly.

He’s gotta get over himself.

* * *

It is the third Official Shyanara Movie Night, and Ryan can feel himself sinking deeper and deeper into unbridled and inexplicable grouchiness. The movie nights started unofficially a few months ago when Ryan admitted that, despite fooling his film school peers into thinking otherwise, he hadn’t seen _Pulp Fiction_ until last year (Shane had been appalled, and Sara had high-fived him on his ‘excellent work blending into white boy culture’), and Shane had commandeered Ryan’s living room to force Ryan and Sara to watch what he called the “classics.” Two weeks later, Sara had wanted to catch up on last year’s Oscar nominees, and a week after that, Shane wanted to marathon the entirety of _Political Animals_. Finally, Sara had officially declared Thursdays as movie nights, and that was that.

Ryan also thought the portmanteau was hilarious when Sara explained it to him. He’s on the internet, okay, Shyan makes sense to him (admittedly, it is surreal to be famous enough to have fanfiction written about him by bored teens), but he was a little behind on figuring out the Shyanara train.

Right now, though, the Shyanara train might be derailing a little, because Ryan can’t get his _shit_ together. “Oh,” Sara gasps from Shane’s other side; something terrible has probably happened onscreen, because they’re finishing tonight with Batman: Under the Red Hood, which, as far as Ryan can tell, seems to be an hour and a half of terrible things happening. Ryan can’t get more specific than that; he’s barely paying attention to the screen because he can’t stop looking at Shane’s hand, resting comfortably on his own thigh.

They used to be separated by the comfortable width of a popcorn bowl, until Shane set it on the table because he was worried about knocking it over. That would all be fine if Ryan was a normal fucking human, but instead he’s here, face heated because Shane is dangerously _close_ , intruding on Ryan’s private space.

He tries to tell himself that he’s over his no homo bullshit, but then something happens on screen, and Sara leans into Shane, who then shifts ever slightly closer to Ryan. They’re almost touching. They would be touching, if Ryan wasn’t holding himself so tightly. He’s so wound up that the slightest contact will set him off — he’s self-aware enough to recognize that, at least — and so he settles for clutching the arm of his couch, leaning as subtly as he can away from Shane.

He lets himself sink back into the movie after Shane doesn’t make any more moves towards him. Onscreen, Jason has a gun on the Joker, and even Ryan, who hasn’t really noticed any major plot points since the Narrowly Avoided Physical Contact Disaster, can admit that it’s moving.

The last scene of the movie is a flashback to the resurrected Jason, who blew himself up in an obscene parody of his earlier death, as a kid doing a backflip out of sheer joy. Jesus Christ. This is for kids? “That was pretty sad,” Sara whispers as the credits start up.

Ryan sneaks a peek over, and Shane’s got his whole arm around Sara’s shoulders. Something about that rubs Ryan the wrong way, too, but he knows it’s stupid. “Yeah, wow,” he says, before someone picks on him for being too quiet or awkward, or inadvertently prods him into saying something he’ll regret.

They watch the names scroll by in silence for another second before Shane says, “Hey, did that say the guy who voiced Jason was Jensen Ackles?”

“Why do I know that name?”

“He’s the _Supernatural_ guy, dummy,” Sara says.

Ryan rolls his eyes. “Sorry I’m not invested in shitty genre shows.”

“ _Supernatural_ has been on the air for over 13 years!” says Shane. “It’s a cultural touchstone. An icon of the genre.”

“That doesn’t make it _good_ ,” Ryan says, and, like every other _Supernatural_ fan Ryan has ever come across, Shane shrugs and nods his head in agreement, muttering, “Fair enough.”

Sara stretches out, and Ryan has to pull his eyes away from the lean silhouette of her body, lit by the glow of his TV, to focus on the screen. That’s inappropriate, and fucked up, and definitely violates the bro code. Before either of them asks him why he’s so invested in the assistant animation team for this movie or whatever the fuck is happening in the credits sequence right now, he stands up and picks up the popcorn bowl. “Gonna, uh, put this away. Be right back.”

_Get it together_ , he tells himself as he puts the bowl down on his counter. Just to postpone his return to the living room, he dumps the few remaining kernels in the garbage, and gets a sponge to wash the bowl. For the first time in his life, he’s grateful he doesn’t have a dishwasher.

Once the bowl is dry and back in his cabinet, he can’t put it off any longer, so he turns back to the living room. The kitchen is brightly lit, but the living room is still in shadow. Like a vision through some otherworldly portal, Shane’s got his arm back around Sara’s shoulders, and she’s pressing a kiss to his cheek. Ryan pauses. Shane leans down to kiss her, and Ryan figures he should interrupt before it goes anywhere harder— _difficult_ , anywhere more difficult to interrupt.

He deliberately bangs his foot against his recycling bin as he exits his kitchen, and when he looks back up, Shane and Sara have made enough room between them for as many Jesuses as a middle school dance chaperone could wish for. Ryan settles back into the couch. “You guys wanna watch another? Or have a drink or anything?”

Shane says, “We could have a beer, if you want—”

“Oh shit, it’s already one,” Sara says.

“Oh yeah, shit, I’m sorry I kept you guys so late—”

“You didn’t keep us late at all,” Sara replies, but she’s still standing up. “Sorry we kept you up, Ryan.”

“No, you didn’t—” Ryan snaps. The circularity of this argument might set him off if he doesn’t nip it in the bud. In a studiously calm voice, he continues, “You don’t have to go, but I understand if you need to leave, since it is late.”

Sara flicks her eyes over at Shane, and says, “Well, we could stay for a drink. That movie was pretty heavy.”

“Sure was,” Shane says. “You want any help in the kitchen, little guy?”

“I think I can manage some beers,” Ryan says, and escapes to the kitchen again. Over the sound of his fridge door opening, he can hear Shane and Sara whispering aggressively, and he worries that he’s overstepped by asking them to stay. To make sure they know he’s on his way back, he yells, “The beers Andrew left last time are okay, right? I don’t have any Millers left.”

“Yup,” Shane calls back, and Ryan comes back into the living room. The floor lamp is on, and the TV is off, but otherwise the scene is identical to the last time Ryan interrupted them.

Sara takes a long pull from her beer when it comes her way, and Ryan is embarrassed _for_ Shane when he catches him watching her avidly before popping the cap of his own bottle and taking a long slug himself. Ryan drinks his beer, and it’s hoppy and citrusy, just like what every other indie brewery in the country seems to produce.

“This ain’t half bad,” Shane says, and of course Shane would say that. Sara catches Ryan’s eye over Shane’s shoulder and snorts, and Ryan, who’s not totally sure that he’s in on the joke, laughs, too, just to be safe. “What— what’s so funny?”

“You’re such a white guy, baby,” Sara says, and yeah, Ryan sees where she’s coming from. The midwestern dad voice; the ironic “ain’t.” Shane is a parody of himself sometimes. Ryan snorts into his beer.

“I— I mean, that is demonstrably true.” Shane sips his beer. “Is it because I like this beer?”

“It’s nice, sure, but it’s basically what would happen if a Portland harmonica player described beer to a Silicon Valley tech bro who owned a food truck,” Ryan says, and Sara’s laugh turns belly-deep.

Shane shrugs, and takes another sip. Ryan asks, “Should we drink to another successful Shyanara Movie Night?”

Shane and Sara clink their bottles with Ryan’s obligingly, and Ryan— Ryan isn’t sure what to do with himself when he finds his eyes hooked on the way Shane’s mouth is shaped around the bottle. Obviously he isn’t looking at Sara — that’s dangerous territory, because she’s his friend, because she’s dating another one of his friends — but he can’t seem to stop himself from looking at _Shane_. And it _pisses_ him the fuck off. Ryan drinks to forget the heat in his cheeks. It’s probably because Shane’s so smug when he drinks, looking every inch the midwestern hipster he is; Ryan is probably remembering the way that look became so much worse when he had the Savannah mustache. It’s sense memory irritation, is all. 

Then Shane pulls one of Sara’s legs up to rest on his lap, and Ryan’s hand tightens on his bottle. “I—” he starts, without meaning to say anything at all. Sara sends an inquisitive look his way, and he shakes his head. “Just, that movie. Was. Heavy.” _Yes, Ryan, we know, we’ve only been saying that for the last ten fucking minutes_ , he thinks.

“For real,” Sara says. “The last scene? Wow.”

“Now, you know I’m an MCU proponent, too, but this does bring home why Batman is hands down the best superhero,” Shane says.

The idea of Shane rambling off into his little Batman fangasm hits Ryan the wrong way, and he starts to bob his knee nervously.

“Like, compelling villains? Check. Fantastic supporting characters? Also check. I’m not saying I’m a huge fan of Batman as like, an individual, but he’s easily got the best narrative universe of any hero.”

“Narrative universe?” Ryan mocks, entirely ignoring the fact that he has no idea what he’d call it either.

“I mean, rogues gallery only covers the bad guys,” Shane goes on, oblivious to the fact that Ryan is practically vibrating with irritation next to him.

“Uh huh,” Ryan says. If he doesn’t shut up, he’s going to end the night on a shitty note, and it’s been— it’s been so good, other than the fact that Ryan can’t seem to stop himself from hating everything about Shane and Sara being in his space. Maybe next time they should host movie night.

He manages to keep his cool as the conversation winds down and around to other superheroes and then to upcoming projects, which reminds them of the time. Ryan happily ushers Sara and Shane out, helping Sara put on her jacket like a real gentleman, and flicking Shane the finger when he demands the same treatment.

Ryan waves as they walk down to their Uber, and totally doesn’t clench his fist when he sees Shane drop a casual kiss on Sara’s hair, because he is a reasonable and rational person.

He gets ready for bed, and it’s two am, so definitely time for him to sleep, but he ends up lying on his mattress staring at the ceiling.

What the fuck is wrong with him?

Shane hasn’t done anything to piss him off recently, and Sara has _never_ done anything to piss him off, so why the hell is he looking to pick a fight with two of his best friends? Why does the sight of Shane curling an arm around Sara’s shoulders — or Sara pressing a kiss to Shane’s cheek — send Ryan into what can only be described as an annoyance spiral? Why was he so nervous about the idea of Shane bumping into him, or settling too close into Ryan’s space?

Eventually, he settles on the following: he’s lonely. And more than that, he can admit to himself that he’s a little stuck in his normative masculinity. He’s probably just envious of their casual physical contact. It’s been a while since he’s had that, is all, and Ryan’s not so oblivious that he doesn’t realize he’s third wheeling the two friends whose relationship seems to send him spiralling. It doesn’t make any sense, none of it does, and this — a desire to get in on that intimacy — seems like sort of a reasonable explanation.

He’s not going to get that intimacy, though. Those casual touches aren’t for him, because he’s not dating Shane or Sara. He’s not dating anyone because he’s — well, for one, it’s hard to meet new people because he actually has to start thinking of himself as, like, an E-list celebrity now (what the fuck???). Secondly, he’s not dating anyone because he, well.

Because no one wants to date him.

That’s a tough path to go down, and one he’s tried to avoid since his last relationship ended (it’s easy for Ryan, when he’s not bogged down by so much work he neglects the rest of his life, to sink into the trap of thinking of himself as unlovable, undateable, too much for this and too intense for that—), so Ryan steers himself into an easy, actionable conclusion: the sooner he gets over his weird jealousy about physical intimacy, the sooner he can get over whatever the fuck this thing is with two of his good friends.

* * *

The next day, Ryan realizes he’s in even deeper shit than he thought.

“Oh _fuck_ ,” he says suddenly, removing his headphones in a daze and pushing back from his desk. The time on his computer reads 2:34 PM. He is having a revelation at two in the fucking afternoon. What a joke.

There’s something that sounds like a voice next to him, and he tunes in to hear Shane going, “Earth to Ryan. Hey, buddy—”

“I’m fine,” he replies automatically. He shakes his head. He’s so _dumb_. Ryan Bergara is a fully certified _Dumb Ass™_.

Shane looks at him, and Ryan looks back at his ridiculous, attractive face, and God, how could he think— how did he not see this before? “Are you sure, man? You look like you’ve seen—” and Shane cuts himself off to chuckle, and Ryan can’t help but laugh along with him through the panic.

“Nah, it’s cool. I figured out something that I was wondering about earlier, nothing important.”

“Okay.” Shane gives him a quick up and down to make sure he’s really okay, and then slides back to his desk.

Ryan looks at his hands, which are shaking slightly. He looks at himself on screen, the catalyst for this realization; film-Ryan is looking at film-Shane with something obscene, something humiliating, something irrefutably _romantic_ in his eyes. Two days ago, Ryan had laughed brighter and louder than he had in _weeks_ at Sara’s plan to fuck up Shane’s next Ruining History episode.

Ryan isn’t jealous of Shane and Sara. Ryan isn’t annoyed by Shane and Sara. And Ryan definitely isn’t craving some abstract idea of physical touch.

Ryan has a crush on Shane and Sara.

He edits the rest of the video in a daze. Wow. He was really out here telling himself that he was jealous of his friends for being in a successful relationship, even though he has tons of friends who are also happy and dating each other whose relationships he doesn’t feel one way or another about. That’s _embarrassing_.

And then he spots Sara pressing a kiss to Shane’s head as she walks past him, and something in his stomach drops. All at once, it’s not just embarrassing. A muscle in his chest feels like it’s pulling and he kind of wants to puke up the Chipotle he had for lunch; there’s a real goddamn tragedy in forbidden intimacy — the in-jokes and physical closeness and acknowledged love lying out of reach. Ryan is going to be just outside of the Shane-and-Sara sphere forever.

_Pining_. His mind is just full of emotion words today, isn’t it? All-encompassing, heart-rending, unrequited love. Ryan is living a damn Austen novel.

* * *

Ryan is able to forget about his nightmare realization for the next few weeks, but it hits him hard when he takes some of his friends out for karaoke. They’re celebrating Unsolved getting renewed for another season, but Ryan can hardly concentrate on that when he’s focused on drinking to forget his terrible, terrible crush on two of the most unattainable people he knows. He shudders when Shane’s hand brushes against his back, and he has to fake a grin when Sara slips into Shane’s lap to take a quick sip of his beer before walking around to her own chair.

_It wasn’t the toxic masculinity at all_ , Ryan thinks absurdly. It was the fact that Ryan — no matter how many hours he puts in, no matter how many stupid popcorn jokes he makes — will never earn the casual slide of Shane’s hand on his waist, the delicate press of Sara’s lips to his shoulder. It’s hard to see where he’d fit into their relationship, even if a threesome were on the table (which, obviously, it isn’t). Everything about Shane-and-Sara is easy — laid-back Friday nights and gentle conversation during Saturday morning grocery runs at Trader Joe’s — and Ryan is demonstrably _not_ easy. Everything about him is high-strung and he knows he gets on people’s nerves. That’s part of what’s gotten him this far in life, but it’s also what makes him a terrible date. He’s serious and headstrong and overcommitted. He has a laundry list of flaws and no one knows them better than Shane.

Oh god, he told Shane about the Queen Mary toothpaste. He sabotaged _himself_.

“Heyyy Ry-Ry, love ya buddy!” Shane is saying with a wink and finger guns from the karaoke microphone; Ryan laughs gamely, because it would be hilarious if it wasn’t a fist to the face. Shane isn’t like Ryan, who falls deeply into something and crawls his way out years later, if ever. It’s irritating, how little gets under Shane’s skin, but admirable, too; Ryan wishes he were a little less flappable. Maybe then he wouldn’t be so deep in this hole, where Shane leaning on a microphone stand and belting out “Jesus Take The Wheel” of all fucking things still makes Ryan’s heart skip a beat. There’s something beautiful in the flush on his face and his drunk-sweat hair, the grin he can’t seem to stop from twitching up and the decadent, lazy grip of his fingers on the mic.

“He’s so bad,” Sara snorts in Ryan’s ear. He jumps.

“Ha— yeah, jeez.” Ryan thinks his recovery is pretty impressive, all things considered. “I can’t believe he’s doing Carrie dirty like this.”

Sara laughs, and slides into the empty seat next to Ryan. Her hand is resting on the back of his chair. If Ryan leans back two inches, he’ll make contact. “She cried when she saw that baby in the backseat sleepin’ like a rock,” she sings, in the same overwrought Tennessee twang that Shane’s putting on. Then: “I feel like if your baby’s in the backseat you _shouldn’t_ take your hands off the wheel.”

“But Jesus has it covered! You know, the classic Southern Baptist insurance plan — pray the accident away.”

“Oh God,” Sara laughs. She leans in a little closer to Ryan, just from the momentum of her own laughter, and Ryan would be more enraptured if Shane wasn’t dragging his attention away by force; the man is sliding his hands down the mic stand in a courageous attempt to make “Jesus Take The Wheel” sexy. It is an absolutely stunning display of profanity.

“I can’t do this onn myy ooown,” Shane croons into the microphone, punctuating the last three syllables with what can only be described as aggressive hip thrusts. Sara covers her face with her hands. For a second, Shane stops singing and just comments, “God, Carrie really knows how to let it all out, doesn’t she?”

“Shut up and sing!” Kelsey yells, and Shane jumps back into the chorus.

As Shane finishes up with a final wail which would be more fitting in an Unsolved cryptozoology ep than a dining establishment, Sara says, “Hey, I don’t think I’ve actually officially congratulated you yet.”

“Are you going to?”

Sara smiles, cheeks flushing and eyes sparkling. “Good things come to those who wait, Ryan.”

“I see how it is. Gonna make me beg for it at my own celebration party.” Oh, shit. Shit shit _shit_. Shit.

Sara doesn’t say anything for a second, and Ryan figures that he’s completely destroyed his relationship with her and also curses every single human being involved in the creation of alcohol as, like, a concept. _Beg for it_. Ryan’s a complete fucking imbecile.

“I wouldn’t go that far,” Sara says, unbothered, because she’s not privy to Ryan’s inner monologue. Her hand slides just a little further along the chair, and she leans in just a little closer, a distance Ryan wouldn’t even notice if he wasn’t so attuned to her every move. “But you can if you want to.”

Maybe it’s the drink or maybe it’s the sliver of skin that shows between the hem of Sara’s shirt and the waistband of her shorts, but something compels Ryan to offer a hushed, “Please?”

Something like a _Kill Bill_ siren goes off in Ryan’s head as Sara’s eyes flick undeniably to his mouth for just a second. His internal narration is reduced to a series of exclamation marks. She pulls back a little, and says, cheekily, “Well, then. Congrats on the new season, Ryan.”

Ryan fails to respond, but Sara saves them from an awkward silence by picking up her own drink. “To many more.”

It sounds like more of a birthday toast than a work promotion — or work continuation, really — toast, but Ryan says, “Sure, I’ll drink to that,” and throws back more of his beer than is probably healthy.

The space between them is still— still _something_ — but it is a little less fraught. Shane wanders by and pulls up a chair to sit behind the two of them, a weird triangle awkwardly seated next to, not at, the otherwise empty table.

“Nice singing, idiot,” is how Ryan chooses to greet Shane. He’s _frazzled_ , okay?

“Only the best for the face of Unsolved.” Shane takes a long pull from his own drink, and Ryan, embarrassingly, can’t look away from his throat, the stubble that Ryan’s certain would feel amazing against his own skin— _uh oh_.

“I should go put my name in for something,” Ryan says, and stands up. He knows it’s sudden, he can tell that Sara and Shane are taken aback, but he can’t stop himself. This is too much, too fast, and there’s so much blood rushing to so many different parts of his body that he quite literally feels dizzy.

“What’re you gonna sing?” Sara asks, and Ryan realizes he has to think of something. Fuck.

“Uh, maybe— I’m not a great singer, I shouldn’t be too adventurous—”

“Live a little!” Shane says expansively, leaning back in his chair. “Try something new. Take a chance.”

Everything about those three sentences are way too much for Ryan to handle right now, so he just riffs on the words without processing what they mean. “Sure, maybe I’ll— maybe I’ll do that ABBA song. Take a chance on me, right? That’s what it’s called?”

“Oh, a classic,” Shane replies. For some godforsaken reason his left hand is spanning his own thigh, riding high up and fingers spread wide. If Ryan doesn’t stop imagining what it would be like to replace Shane’s hand with his own he is going to have a conniption fit. 

“All right, I’ll go put my name in,” Ryan says, and escapes with absolutely none of his dignity intact. Christ.

After he writes his name and his song on a slip of paper — and realizes that _Take A Chance On Me_ is maybe the worst song he could’ve picked for how he’s feeling right now — he looks back to see that Shane’s hand has migrated to Sara’s thigh, palm on her bare skin, her hand resting on top of his. His stomach twists, and he jumps in on Zack and Steven’s conversation to avoid thinking about Shane and Sara. He left his drink at the table, but he can always finish it later. After all, the two of them look like they’re having a great time without him; he doesn’t want to interrupt.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this whole fic started as a six thousand word oneshot i wrote in a feverish daze immediately after watching the ladylike style video, which probably tells you a lot about me and my priorities. that oneshot became this chapter. thank u all for ur lovely comments!! just fyi i've written the whole fic and am just doing last minute edits/proofreading - i don't have a beta so all errors are mine and mine alone.
> 
> the bodybuilder thread shane references is real + a link is embedded in the dialogue; the meme he initially mentions does not exist, just before anyone asks.
> 
> also i didn't mention this in the notes for last chapter, so if you have any questions or concerns please feel free to send me an ask on tumblr @agoodsoldier

It all comes to a head a few weeks later, when they shoot the final outfit reveal for the Ladylike style video. That seems like a weird time for anything monumentally transformative to go down, but then again, Ryan figures life doesn’t really pick its moments.

While Ryan was walking through the office in his new digs, the compliments got a little out of hand. Somehow his _thighs_ were worth commenting on, and when he took off his blazer, Sara said his biceps “look nice,” which was a frankly worldview-shattering interaction. What did she _mean_? And Shane nodded when Jen mentioned his ankles, not to mention the full body scan when he saw Ryan for the first time in his night outfit.

But he’s over his mini-crisis now and everything’s chill and he’s a totally normal dude with a normal relationship to his coworkers who are in a relationship with each other. Whatever.

They all share drinks on the roof because that’s apparently the best way to end a makeover video (Ryan’s still scratching his head over that one, but he’s happy enough to down cocktails on company time), and Ryan gets through their end of the shoot well enough. If he needed to he’d feel sober enough to drive, but he figures he might as well stick around and get through some last minute editing while he waits for the alcoholic buzz to completely flush itself out of his system.

“You doing anything tonight?” Shane asks as they’re walking back to their desks.

“Nah, just gonna go home after I catch up on some work.” Ryan plops into his chair, leaning back and enjoying the peace and quiet after the day’s whirlwind.

“You’re gonna work?” Shane seems mortally offended by the very thought. “Ryan, it’s already seven! Just go home!”

Ryan shrugs. “I don’t really feel up to driving yet. Probably shoulda just said no drinking for this shoot or something.”

“Mm, fair enough.” Shane falls into a chair and scoots closer to Ryan. Ryan can already tell he’s not going to get any work done. “Wanna come over once Sara’s done?”

Ryan grins. “You mean you just want a ride home.”

“I’ll pay ya in a home cooked meal and hand-popped popcorn,” Shane drawls. He’s stretched out, hips slouched forward in his chair, arm resting behind his head like he really is on a beach vacation.

“Sure, why not,” Ryan says, feeling very out of his depth. Maybe it’s his new threads, but Ryan senses something different than usual happening here tonight. Shane usually doesn’t invite Ryan over with a minute’s notice, and rarely on a Friday night.

Shane dicks around on his phone next to him while Ryan gets through the storyboard he’s working on. He doesn’t even comment on Ryan muttering to himself, so he’s either found a really engrossing _New Yorker_ article or an irredeemably stupid Reddit thread.

Turns out it’s the latter, or something close to it. Ryan is interrupted by Shane saying, “Hey, you know [that thread of a buncha bodybuilders arguing about how many days are in a week](https://forum.bodybuilding.com/showthread.php?t=107926751)? There’s this great meme—”

“What?” Ryan saves his work and turns around. “What are you talking about?”

“Are you serious?” Shane starts typing furiously. Without even looking up, he continues, “Okay, I can’t even show you the meme until you understand—”

“Did you say bodybuilders arguing about _how many days are in a week_?” Ryan blows a breath out. “Wow. That’s like, way beyond average meathead.”

“You should be proud of your brethren for achieving something so impressive,” Shane snipes back. “Here it is. Just wait.”

Ryan doesn’t comment on the brethren barb — he gets it, he’s into working out, yadda yadda yadda — and takes Shane’s phone. It’s… exactly what Shane said it would be. “Oh my God.”

“Yeah.” Ryan glances up to see Shane’s self-satisfied smirk. “It’s amazing, right?”

“Oh my _God_ ,” Ryan repeats as he keeps reading. “This guy… this guy thinks there are two Sundays. Like, he thinks that Sundays repeat. Or something. I can’t even understand it, it’s so stupid.”

“These are your people, Ryan!” Shane announces expansively, like he’s hosting the goddamn Grammy’s or something.

“I’m not— I’m not this dumb.” He scrolls to the end and hands Shane his phone back. “Wow, dude.”

“Right?” Shane pockets his phone. “Anyway. Just thought you’d appreciate some buff lads denying hard facts. That is what our whole show is about, right?”

“Will you _stop_ with the cracks about me going to the gym or whatever?” Ryan snaps. He feels a little bad when Shane flinches, so slight you’d barely notice it. Ryan shakes his head. “Whatever.”

“Sorry, man. Didn’t know it actually bothered you.”

“I— no—” Ryan doesn’t know how to say _I haven’t stopped thinking about the way my body looks ever since your girlfriend said my arms looked nice. What did she mean by that, Shane? Did Sara think I looked hot? Do you think I look hot right now?_ without, like, saying that. He also doesn’t really appreciate the insinuation that he’s not on Shane’s intellectual level. That he’s not _suitable_ for Shane because he’s just a big dumb meathead. Not to mention the fact that Shane clearly didn’t even mean to imply that! What a fucking mess. “Nah, it’s not actually a big deal. I’m just being grumpy.”

“Okay,” Shane accepts readily, since Ryan is grumpy a lot of the time. He’s gotta get more sleep.

“What was the meme anyway?” Ryan asks, mostly to distract himself from the minefield he’s wandered into.

He’s not really invested in the answer, but then Shane says, “Oh, I closed the tab,” which is so infuriating that Ryan wants to strangle him. Shane clearly notices, since his smile turns into what can only be described as a cheeky grin. “Sorry, buddy.”

“I hate you so much,” Ryan mutters, and turns back to his computer.

They continue on until Sara gets out of her meeting and finds them. Ryan pointedly doesn’t turn to look, but he still catches a glimpse of her giving Shane a kiss in the monitor’s reflection. It’s a totally work-appropriate peck, so nonsexual that Ryan’s pretty sure he’s kissed relatives that way, but his hand clenches on his mouse anyway.

After that’s over, Ryan turns around. “Hey, Sara.”

“Hey Ryan!” Sara gives him a hug, which is cute and makes Ryan feel like a jackass for his earlier resentment. “Shane says you’re coming over tonight.”

“Oh! Yeah, if that’s okay with you.” Ryan and Sara don’t really see each other much when Shane’s not around, and Shane clearly extended the invite to Ryan without consulting Sara first, so he’s pretty sure _someone’s_ going to be a third wheel tonight.

“Of course,” Sara says, with an air of common sense that implies Ryan is a real douchebag for doubting her hospitality. “Shane’s gonna make pasta. Is that cool?”

“Uh— yeah.” Ryan looks over to Shane, whose eyes are fixed right on his phone screen. The tips of his ears are red. Ryan laughs. “You didn’t know you were cooking tonight, did you?”

Shane’s head snaps up. “I— uh— haha, yeah.” Adopting his nuclear family dad voice, he says, “But when the missus tells you to do somethin’—”

“Shut up,” Sara says fondly, slapping him gently upside the head, and Shane grins.

Ryan resists the urge to rest his chin on his hands like a lovesick teenager. They’re so… _wholesome_. “All right. We ready to head out?”

“Totally. Got all my stuff here. Including my jellybeans!” Sara says proudly, and, honest to God, actually pulls out a bag of jellybeans.

“Holy shit. _The forbidden fruit_ ,” Shane whispers, eyes wide open, and Ryan wheezes.

They all pile into his car, Shane in the passenger seat just because it’s cruel and unusual to make a man who’s over six feet tall squeeze into the back. Ryan definitely doesn’t wonder why the two of them took a Lyft to work instead of driving like usual. He definitely doesn’t begin to suspect that this is a set up. And he _definitely_ doesn’t tell himself that they’re being super nice because they’ve chosen tonight to sit him down and very gently give him the “You’re Too Weird And Too Much And By The Way Can You Stop Hanging Out With Us Like A Sad Puppy All The Time Thanks” talk. (The name is a work in progress.)

Sara plugs her phone into Ryan’s aux cord without asking, and Shane easily navigates away from the radio to the multimedia menu on his dashboard, which all feels like a level of intimacy Ryan wasn’t prepared for. To distract himself from his spiralling thoughts, he asks, “Should I stop and grab some beers or something?”

“It’s fine, we have wine at home,” Sara says casually from the backseat. Ryan comes to a textbook perfect stop at the next red light as his mind takes a quick and painless vacation away from the wheel.

Wine. Home-cooked pasta. Physical compliments?

_Wait._

The light changes and Ryan puts it out of his head. He’ll find out soon enough, he supposes.

They get to the Madej-Rubin residence without further incident. “I’m just gonna use your bathroom real quick,” Ryan says, and Sara nods while Shane pulls out the noodles. Oh God, they don’t even have to show him the way because he’s been to their house so often.

Ryan takes a nervous piss and then splashes water on his face. “All right, buddy,” he whispers to himself, as quietly as he can just in case one of them wanders near the door. “Square up. Normal night, normal friends.”

After that scintillating pep talk, Ryan dries his hands and walks out of the bathroom, ready to help with dinner and be a totally cool and chill bro. Shane immediately enlists him to chop up vegetables, while Sara fiddles with their speakers — Ryan doesn’t comment on the 80’s Japanese funk that starts playing, but like, _Jesus Christ_ , right? — and pours them a glass of wine each.

Shane turns away from the stove to offer a toast. “To the newly fancy ghoul boys,” he offers, and Sara says, “Hear, hear!”

Ryan adds, “And, to the already fancy ghoul girl,” because it feels kind of mean to leave her out of the toast.

Sara’s face reddens, but she’s smiling, and Shane laughs boisterously. “Oh, you _are_ a ghoul girl!” he says, and clinks his glass against Ryan’s and then Sara’s.

“Cheers,” Ryan tacks on awkwardly, and then they drink. Shane and Sara take dignified sips like real adults, and Ryan limits himself to throwing back about a third of the glass in an attempt to erase the last five seconds from his memory.

Shane turns back to his noodles, and Ryan gets back to business with the veggies. Sara has apparently already made dessert, so she sits on a stool and launches commentary at them like she’s being paid to do it. “Shane, honey, you don’t need to grip the saucepan like it’s your long lost father. It doesn't have legs. It can’t walk away.” She’s got the best voice for it too, light and earnest enough that Ryan totally loses it every time she roasts them.

As the sauce starts simmering, Shane backs up towards the sink to give Ryan enough space to fry the vegetables. “You’re really going for the GQ look right now, babe,” Sara says, and Ryan turns around to see Shane with his hands on the counter behind him, elbows bent just enough for it to look casual, dish towel over his shoulder, third button undone. His head is thrown back to leave his jawline sharp and throat exposed, and his eyes are closed like he’s posing for a damn cologne ad; after a second of staring, Ryan forces out a laugh. Shane is clearly putting it on, and that’s— Ryan should oblige with the expected response.

Sara giggles too as Shane reverts back to normal everyday Shane, and Ryan turns back to his part of the meal. “Of course, we’ve also got the real buff boy over here,” Sara continues, just enough mirth in her voice to keep it platonic. The wine makes Ryan a little bold, and he winks at her while he flexes a little for show. She laughs, and Ryan has no doubt that Shane is as enthralled as he is right now by the shape of her mouth, the flush of her cheeks.

Dinner is done a few minutes after that, and as it turns out, Sara has actually set the table with placemats and fancy cutlery. “Wow, this looks nice,” Ryan says, to stop himself from saying _oh God I’m third wheeling date night aren’t I_.

“That’s why Sara’s the art _iste_ in this household, baby,” Shane says, putting down Sara and Ryan’s plates before going back to the kitchen for his own.

“Oh, I could’ve gotten—”

“No need, Ryan,” Shane calls from the kitchen. “You’re our guest!”

“Thanks,” Ryan says, and sits down across from Shane. Sara’s at the head of the table, which is kind of weird in that it feels weird for anyone to be at the head of the table, but it’s definitely better than the two of them sitting across from Ryan like some kind of hellish group job interview.

They start eating, and Ryan says, with a level of surprise that is probably tactless, “Oh shit. This is _good_.”

Shane laughs. “What, you thought we were going to feed you filth?”

“No, I just—”

“This is _edible_. I can’t believe it! Sara, darling, is this… _food_?”

Sara snorts into her glass. “You better believe it, buddy.”

“I can’t believe it’s not filth,” Ryan announces like he’s in a fucking margarine commercial, and they all crack up.

As the night goes on, they finish the bottle of wine and the conversation meanders into vaguely unsettling territory. “What’s _up_ , Ryan? What’s happening in your life?” Sara asks, still blushing from the conversation or the alcohol and a perpetual smile in her eyes. Shane has blatantly switched into heart eye mode every time he looks at her, and Ryan can hardly blame him.

“Nothing much, I guess. The big guy basically knows everything that happens to me on a daily basis anyway.”

“That is absolutely untrue,” Shane retorts. “We’re together for like, _max_ ten hours a day. That’s a whole fourteen hours where I don’t see you!”

Ryan wheezes along with Sara. She’s still looking at him expectantly though, so he tries to come up with a satisfactory answer. “I dunno. I just head home after work everyday and pass out, pretty much.” He’s stopped watching horror movies after dark because he has no one to cuddle with, which is maybe the most pathetic thing he’s ever thought.

“Spend more time with us!” Sara says easily, like that’s a normal and reasonable thing to suggest. They all work together. Shane has more claim to the title of Ryan’s work husband than any other being on the planet. Ryan looks over at the man in question to see if he has any objections to them living even deeper in each other’s pockets than they already do, but he just shrugs and gives Ryan a smile.

Ryan stutters out a laugh. “Okay, sure. Just, uh, invite me over whenever.”

“We will,” Shane says, like that settles it. He stands up to clear the plates, and God, Ryan had forgotten for a second how _tall_ he really is. Sitting down, it feels like Ryan has to crane his neck back to an obscene angle just to see Shane’s face, and Sara’s doing the exact same thing next to him. “I’m gonna clear these out. You guys want dessert?”

“Yes!” Sara says, and Ryan looks over at her with what must be an embarrassing smile on his face. He stays seated, only standing up to help Shane when he comes back with three plates balanced in the crook of his elbow, what looks like a fucking _rainbow crepe cake_ on a platter, and another bottle of wine.

“Holy shit,” Ryan breathes. He looks over at Sara once everything’s set on the table. “Sara, you made this?”

She shrugs modestly, and he needs to give her more than that. “Dude, this is amazing!”

“You haven’t even eaten it yet,” she says.

“If it tastes half as good as it looks my mind’s gonna be blown.” Ryan lets Shane pour him another glass and slice him some cake. He doesn’t even wait for Shane to serve himself or Sara, just puts a forkful in his mouth, and — honest to God — it’s a fucking cliché and a half, but a moan escapes before he can stop himself. “Oh my _God_ ,” he says, mouth full and probably totally gross. He looks over at Sara. “This is _incredible_ , holy shit.”

She’s got a huge smile on her face, and his reaction was completely honest, but he’d have hammed it up just to see that look. Ryan looks over at Shane, who’s frozen with his hand on the wine bottle and a flush creeping up his neck.

Ryan swallows. It’s true, he’s a certified dumbass - that’s already been established - but he hosts an amateur detective show for a reason. He considers the facts:

  1. Sara baked a cake.
  2. Shane is blushing. (Because Ryan made some obscene noises?)
  3. Sara and Shane clearly planned this whole night in advance. ( _!!! ???_ )



Ryan’s a little over a third of a bottle of wine in and has lost any sense of propriety, so he can’t really stop himself from blurting out, “Is this a date?”

Shane’s hand falls from the bottle, and he sits down abruptly. Sara’s eyes widen. _Oh shit_ , Ryan thinks, _oh shit oh shit oh shit oh shit_ —

“Ryan—”

“Sorry,” he says all in a rush, “I’m sorry, that was so— I don’t even know what I’m—”

“Ryan.” Shane sets his hand on Ryan’s forearm, and uses the voice he uses when Ryan freaks out in locations, a calming baritone that rarely makes it into the videos. Ryan has always thought it was too intimate for public consumption. “Hey. Don’t apologize.”

“I really— I really jumped the gun on that one, huh,” Ryan half-laughs, still jittery. He’s an adult, though, so he continues, “I’m really sorry, I didn’t mean to make things awkward.”

Sara seems to pause for a second, and then she says, “You don’t have to apologize for being right.”

Ryan’s mouth drops open. “Oh,” he says softly, suddenly incapable of forming any new words.

Shane shakes his head. “I didn’t— I’m sorry if we’ve made you feel uncomfortable,” he says slowly, pulling his hand back. “Sara thought you might—”

“Don’t throw me under the bus,” Sara hisses.

“I’m just saying—”

“Can you admit for _once_ that you have feelings too—”

“Guys,” Ryan says, feeling worse than ever for having caused tension between these two. “Guys, you didn’t make me uncomfortable.”

“Really?” Shane asks. “Because you look pretty uncomfortable.”

Ryan snaps, “I look uncomfortable because I’ve had a crush on you both for fucking _months_.”

It’s Shane’s turn to look gobsmacked. Sara sighs out, “ _Ryan_ ,” while Shane blinks.

“Look, are we—” Ryan swallows. “Are we doing this? Is this happening?”

“Yeah,” Sara says, and glares at Shane, who visibly pulls himself together. “Unless Shane has any objections.”

“No, I— Ryan—” Shane runs his hand through his hair. Softly, half to himself, he continues, “Dude, I thought you were straight for so long. This is kinda— this is really blowing my mind here.”

Ryan can’t really deal with the concept of sexual identity right now. If he has to utter the words _I like men_ aloud he might actually implode; instead, he says, “If you can’t even _say_ you want this to be a date—”

“I can. I want that.” Shane lifts his head to look Ryan full in the eyes. “I mean it. I really— I really want this to be a date. I want you.”

That takes him out like a one-two straight to the gut. “Oh. Wow.” Ryan wants to make some kind of sarcastic comment to break the tension, something to show that he’s in this, sure, but not _too_ deep. His mind fails to produce any relevant quips, though, since it’s disproportionately occupied with the idea of Shane and Sara somehow wanting to date _him_.

After a second, Shane asks, “Can I kiss you?” and Ryan’s brain, which was already well on its way to empty, just flatlines.

“Uh— Yes, yeah, you, yes—”

Shane leans across the table to kiss Ryan, and it is fucking _spectacular_. Well, logistically speaking, it’s actually incredibly awkward; Shane has his left hand braced on the table as he bends over the cake to meet Ryan where he’s seated, and Ryan’s head is tilted back about a billion degrees. It’s hard to think about that, though, when Shane’s right hand is pressed against Ryan’s jaw, thumbing tiny circles against Ryan’s skin as Ryan shudders, overwhelmed by something adjacent to arousal. Shane’s mouth moves against his, slow and soft; it’s not chaste at all, not with the way Ryan groans into his mouth, but it’s not exactly sexual either. _Intimate_ , Ryan thinks.

Shane pulls back half an inch, but Ryan instantly pushes up to meet him, to press his lips against Shane’s again, half-delirious from the high and instinctively chasing after it. In the span of a second he’s become obsessed with Shane’s stubble scraping against his chin, the gentle way he lets Ryan take control.

After some time has passed, maybe a minute or maybe a century, Ryan sinks back into his chair. Shane blinks his eyes open slowly, his hand still on the table and his body tilted gracelessly towards Ryan. After a kiss like that, Ryan feels entitled to rake in the way Shane’s chest is heaving a little, the red of his mouth and the pink of his skin, the tiny smile that Shane barely seems aware of; in return, Ryan lets Shane look his fill.

“Woah,” Sara breathes.

Ryan turns to her. He doesn’t know if he’s supposed to feel awkward or embarrassed about swooning in his seat at a kiss from her boyfriend, but he just feels light, full of bubbling energy and somehow simultaneously relieved of his earlier anxiety. All he wants is to share that with her. “I—”

“Can I—”

“—wanna kiss you, too,” Ryan finishes, and Sara nods. Ryan leans in towards her, and she meets him halfway. He smiles into their kiss, just as soft and sweet as the way he just kissed Shane. When he opens his mouth to press his tongue against her lips, quick and tentative, she makes a low sound that rocks Ryan to his core; blood rushes to his head and his pants get a little tighter, mindset sliding further into the realm of the sexual.

Somehow — maybe because he doesn’t work with her 24/7, maybe because he usually only sees her with Shane around as well — he’s afraid to be too forward, to put his hands on her or presume too much. Sara doesn’t seem to have such reservations; she reaches up to thumb at Ryan’s ear, scrape her fingernails gently against his scalp. He shivers.

After a moment, the awkward twist of his body becomes too strenuous, and he pulls back. He can’t help staring at Sara’s mouth, the way her tongue darts out to lick her bottom lip before she bites it. The way he swallows is probably blatant and obscene.

He looks over at Shane. There’s a flush high in his cheeks, and his shirt is open another button. Shane runs a hand through his hair, blowing out a heavy breath. “Jesus Christ,” he says, voice low and hoarse. “We’re— we’re really doin’ this, huh?”

Ryan isn’t sure what to make of that, but Sara says, “I guess so, baby,” and shifts a little closer to Ryan. He gets what she’s aiming for and nods, and she leans in to kiss him again. After just one kiss she already feels familiar, welcome, and Shane mutters _I’m fucking doomed_ in the background. Ryan starts grinning and then Sara’s laughing into their kiss until they have to pull apart just to breathe.

“This table is problematic,” Shane says. “I can’t— I wanna—”

Ryan looks up to meet his eyes, and Shane continues, “I wanna touch both of you. Fuck, that sounded so much creepier than I wanted it to—”

“I’m into that,” Ryan cuts in. “Let’s— let’s move, fuck tables anyway—”

Shane wheezes at that, as Sara and Ryan both stand up. They awkwardly look at each other for a second, standing around Shane and Sara’s dinner table, before Ryan cracks up. Adopting a pretentious British accent, Sara intones, “Now, you may be wondering why I have gathered you here today—”

“Oh my God,” Ryan squeaks, while Shane ambles around the table, behind Sara, until he’s between the two of them. “Hey there, big guy.”

“Hey,” he says, most of the humor in his eyes gone, leaving something raw and serious. “I just—” and Shane pulls Ryan into a kiss.

“ _Oh_ ,” Ryan breathes, before he’s caught up in it. Shane’s left hand — his broad palm, long fingers — is pressed warm against Ryan’s lower back, and his right hand is cupping the back of Ryan’s head. They’re so close. Ryan feels surrounded, just absolutely immersed in _Shane_ , from the breath they’re sharing to the heat gathering in the tiny, tiny space between their bodies. Ryan opens his mouth to gently pull Shane’s lower lip between his teeth, and Shane groans low and deep. Ryan’s got both of his hands against Shane’s sides, stunned and still, just feeling his body through his shirt.

“Ryan’s pretty good at that, isn’t he,” Sara says from over Shane’s shoulder, and Shane’s hand tightens in Ryan’s hair.

“Fuck,” Shane whispers, pulling back just a hair, just enough to breathe. “I— Jesus, Ryan, I—”

“Dude,” Ryan replies, dazed. Suddenly it’s— it’s overwhelming, a little, and that’s mostly amazing but just a little bit terrifying, and he stumbles back a step. He gets a sudden headrush, from the slight chill as he escapes Shane’s gravitational pull or from the oxygen that he’s suddenly able to take in. “Oh, wow.”

“Shane,” Sara says in a small voice, and Shane shifts to the side a little so that he can look at them both. “Shane, that was really—”

There’s some kind of couple telepathy that happens, and then Shane’s kissing Sara, fast and deep. Ryan puts a steadying hand on the table as he finally takes in what he’s always refused to allow himself; the gorgeous slant of Shane’s back as he bends down to Sara’s height, the subtle shift in Sara’s jawline and her cheekbones as she sucks on Shane’s tongue. _Christ_.

“You’re— you guys are so—” Ryan doesn’t know how to finish that thought, but Shane pulls back, and Ryan hastens to add, “I didn’t mean you should _stop_.”

Sara laughs. “Like what you see?”

“Yeah,” he breathes, “yeah, I— I really do. Fuck.”

“You really do fuck?” Shane even accompanies it with an absolutely unforgivable eyebrow waggle. “Wow, Bergara, so forward.”

“Shut up, Shane.” The joke is loaded, of course it is, but it’s not pressing and it’s cheesy enough that Ryan feels a little more grounded. The return of the safety net makes him feel safe enough to be a little honest, in fact, and he continues, “Actually, I— I mean, I’m—” He huffs out a frustrated breath. How do people, like, just _say_ things? “What I mean is, I’d actually prefer, uh. Not tonight. Like, you’re— obviously I’m attracted to you, you’re attractive people, this is, I’m having a great time right now, I’m just.” He stops, because he really has nothing else of value to say. Fuck. Maybe he fucked it all up. Maybe the whole _point_ of tonight was so that Sara and Shane could have a fun hot threesome with a good pal and get it out of their system, and Ryan just ruined the whole thing.

“Hey,” Sara says, and Ryan tears his eyes away from where they’ve been safely focused on Shane’s chest. “That’s totally okay, no pressure at all.”

“Probably not what you wanted to hear, right?” Ryan laughs. He gets it. He’s a freak; who in their right mind says no to sex with two of the most charming people he knows?

“We weren’t expecting anything,” Shane says, and rests his hand on Ryan’s forearm. “For real, okay? This is— we can take it slow.”

“I mean, hopefully not _too_ slow,” Ryan says, trying to bring it back to where Shane and Sara probably wanted the night to go.

“Well,” Shane says, and then lets Ryan pull him down into another kiss.

Ryan tries not to think about a thing like _momentum_ , tries not to think about anything beyond the immediate, but Shane doesn’t crowd into Ryan the way he did before, and Sara stays behind Shane. Ryan pulls away from Shane to look at her, and she kisses him once, soft and slow and clinging, but pulls back.

“I—”

“We should actually eat at least some of this cake,” Shane interjects, and softens the blow with another kiss. Ryan tries not to feel too much like he’s ruined the night with his awkward pronouncement, but it’s hard to feel any other way about it.

Sara sees something like that in him, though, and kisses him, too. “Hey, don’t— let’s just slow it down. We’re just slowing it down. We got off to a really intense start, right?”

“I didn’t mean to call the whole thing to a halt, though,” Ryan says, although he recognizes that he’s mostly just whining now.

“Who’s halting?” Shane says, over-large and over-loud like a damn circus performer, “We’re just getting started, baby!”

“I—” Ryan doesn’t know how to say _Just because I said I didn’t wanna fuck doesn’t mean we can’t make out on your couch_ without sounding like a teenager, so he lets Shane cut himself and Sara two more slices of cake.

And then Sara says, “Let’s eat on the couch,” because she is a goddamn saint and also maybe psychic.

So they take their plates and their rainbow cake over to the couch, and Shane and Sara very smoothly seat Ryan between them. “This is actually really good,” Ryan says. “Did you steal the recipe from the Tasty crew?”

Sara nods. “Uh huh,” she says through her full mouth, “got Alix to help.”

“Nice.” Ryan eats his cake, and enjoys the warmth of Shane’s thigh next to his. Then: “Jesus, dude, take some smaller bites, will you?”

“Wh—?” Shane swallows expressively. “I— I have a big head! I need to feed it!”

“You have a tiny mouth though, you can’t be shoving ten pounds of cake in at once.”

“Didn’t hear no complaints about my mouth earlier.” Shane forks another outrageous section of cake into his mouth, and gives Ryan a smug closed-mouth smile in response to Ryan’s blush.

“Shut up,” is the extent of Ryan’s witty reply, and Sara laughs softly from next to him. “You guys are menaces.” 

Sara, who has finished her slice of cake in record time, puts her plate on the floor and casually swings one leg over Ryan’s lap. He swallows. “You like it, though,” she says.

“God help me, I do.” Ryan puts his hand on Sara’s thigh, watching himself do it like he’s possessed. Maybe that explains it; he’s played with fire too many times, and Mothman or Goatman or some other demon has decided to fuck with him by sending him some too-real vision of an unattainable reality.

Shane’s hand feels real enough on his chin, though, when he turns Ryan’s face towards him. He doesn’t say anything; just leans in and, fuck, Ryan can’t stop himself from leaning forward, too, hand clenching on Sara’s thigh and his other hand still holding his goddamn dessert plate. Shane pulls back briefly to put his plate on the table next to them, and then kisses Ryan again, his hand on the span of Ryan’s neck between his shoulder and his ear, hot against Ryan’s skin.

Then Sara leans up to kiss the back of Ryan’s neck, an inch away from Shane’s fingertips, and Ryan moans. “Guys—” he starts, and then pushes forward out of their bubble, knocking Shane’s hand off of him, to put his plate next to Shane’s on the table. He sinks back into the couch, and Sara’s hand creeps possessively over his chest. “I— Lemme just—” and Ryan kisses Sara, and then Shane, and he puts the hand that isn’t on Sara’s thigh in Shane’s hair because fuck, it’s always looked so goddamn soft.

Shane kisses him, and sucks Ryan’s lip gently between his teeth, and then presses a kiss to Ryan’s chin, his jaw. “Oh _shit_ ,” Ryan hisses, because he’s never been a quiet person, and Shane laughs quietly into his skin.

“Always knew you’d be loud,” he murmurs, and bites at Ryan’s throat.

“ _God_ —” Ryan’s hand twists in Shane’s hair, and Sara lets out a whine as his fingers dig into her thigh, slipping higher. She presses a kiss just below his earlobe, and then gives him a gentle bite there, too, to match the one Shane’s leaving on the other side of his neck, and Ryan groans. “F—” and the word doesn’t even have a chance to form before he’s gasping, explosive. “Jesus Christ, you fucking—”

Shane pulls back. “You always swear at people you kiss?”

“Only when they make me forget my manners,” Ryan says, which is actually sort of a compliment even though he tries to inject as much acid into his tone as possible.

Shane grins, sharklike, and sets his hand on top of Ryan’s hand on Sara, warm skin pressing Ryan’s hand between them. “That’s sweet,” he says, the same way Ryan did on that History panel a few months back, and ducks back in to nip sharply at Ryan’s throat.

Ryan figures he’d better shut up before he makes a fool of himself, and kisses Sara. She groans into his mouth, short and low, and Ryan sucks in a breath. Her hand brushes gently across his nipple, and Ryan has to kiss her deeper, his free hand coming up to her hair to pull her in closer.

Sara half-whispers, “Shit, can I just—” and pushes Ryan and Shane’s hands off of her thigh to clamber into Ryan’s lap. “This okay?”

“Yeah,” Ryan says hoarsely, “Jesus, yeah, of course,” and he kisses her again, one hand on her back, the other clutching Shane’s. She leans down to bite at Ryan’s neck, and Christ, that _should_ hurt, should be deeply unpleasant, but everything’s an endorphin high right now and Ryan can’t get enough. He closes his eyes, and feels Sara in his lap, feels Shane’s warmth next to him.

After a while, God, Ryan doesn’t know, ten minutes or an hour, Shane says, “It’s getting late.”

“Huh?” Ryan blinks his eyes open from where Sara’s marking her territory on his collarbone. She sucks a particularly brutal mark, and he chokes out, “Oh—oh _fuck_.” He looks over at the clock on the DVD player under the TV, because of course their living room has been set up specifically to resemble an American family room from the year 1998. The clock reads 12:07. “Oh shit, you’re right.”

“It’s a weekend,” Sara says against Ryan’s chest, “we’re not in a rush.”

“True.” Shane leans over and brushes Ryan’s hair out of his face, and kisses him, still tasting faintly of the crepe cake’s sweet cream filling. “And, to be clear,” he says into Ryan’s mouth, “we’re not kicking you out. It’s up to you.”

“I didn’t bring my sleep stuff.” Ryan’s almost relieved that his hand is forced by circumstance; he could sleep over if he desperately wanted to (he has a toothbrush at their place, which he honestly should’ve realized was a sign of, well, _something_ much earlier than he did), but it’s more than socially acceptable for him to head home. He pulls Sara up to kiss her, and reaches for Shane’s thigh, just to rest his hand there, feeling the warmth and bulk of him.

“Mm, understandable,” Shane rumbles, leaning in to press sloppy kisses against Ryan’s neck as Sara occupies his mouth. Ah, fuck.

Shane’s hand creeps around to his stomach, and Sara sets a hand against Ryan’s shoulder to steady herself as she bites his lower lip gently, presses her tongue against his teeth, into his mouth. God, at this point he’d be hard pressed to separate them, to know whose hands are Shane’s and whose mouth is Sara’s and whose body is Ryan’s. “Fuck,” he hisses out, the second Sara pulls back. “God, you’re—” and he pulls her back in, hands fitting in perfectly on her hips, fingertips pressing a little lower, under the waistband of her pants.

“Uh huh,” she breathes, rocking against him once in a motion that’s electric, holy, shivers up his spine good. Then she puts some distance between them, and says, “If you’re— if you gotta go, we probably shouldn’t—”

“You’re right,” Ryan says, and Shane pulls back to press an almost innocent kiss to Ryan’s cheek. “Ohh, fuck. God.” He blows out a breath extravagantly, and Sara giggles.

“We sure made a mess o’ ya, huh,” Shane drawls, dustbowl farmer-like, as though he’s surprised, and Ryan shivers as he traces the mark he left not ten minutes earlier. “Yeah, wow,” he continues, voice shifting into something quiet and near reverent, “we really marked you up.”

“I’ll never recover,” Ryan quips, and Shane laughs. Sara carefully extricates herself from Ryan’s lap, and Ryan consciously avoids looking down at himself, where his boner is probably embarrassingly evident.

After a second, Sara says brightly, “I feel like this is gonna be great,” and Ryan tilts his head back and laughs and laughs and laughs. Shane says something in agreement, and Ryan stands up and gets his wallet and his keys in sort of a daze, half-hard and high off of the whole evening and the fact that it’s half past midnight.

Shane helps him put his coat on, and both him and Sara send him off with a kiss, and Ryan drives home, still giddy from whatever joy possessed him as Sara prophesied on their future. Yeah, he thinks. This _is_ gonna be great.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you all for the lovely feedback!! i'm sorry i haven't replied to most comments yet, it will happen!!
> 
> also this chapter gives a lil shout out to UTIs which are a Real Damn Issue Okay. i mention this because UTIs also make an appearance in almost the exact same way in [chapter 2 of beethechange's iconic "A Perfect Piece of Ass, Like Every Californian"](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14748270/chapters/37470635#workskin). i promise i did not intentionally plagiarize, but it's a wild coincidence and i wouldn't feel right not acknowledging it!! most importantly, if you haven't read that fic yet, why are you here????? go there!!
> 
> im also not very smart + failed to embed emojis (i am too lazy to update a work skin/i don't think i can after part of the work has already been posted) so please accept my sincerest apologies for the half-assed description + screenshot which i have provided instead.
> 
> lastly, this chapter is the reason for the explicit rating. irredeemable smut, in _my_ fanfiction? it's more likely than you think!

Saturday morning, Ryan wakes up to a text from Sara which reads **hope you got home safe <3**. He responds to that and then sends **Had a great time last night :)** to both of them. Sara sends back a heart emoji and a smiley face, and Shane, the absolute maniac, sends back an elaborate series of emojis which Ryan interprets as an invitation to Netflix and chill with a not-so-subtle hint at penetration. Or, alternatively, a proposal to eat popcorn on an Amtrak route together.

Sunday comes and goes without incident, and Monday Ryan’s doing VOs all morning, so it’s understandable that he doesn’t see either of them. He and Shane film the Postmortem that afternoon, but they come to an unspoken agreement to keep things as professional as they can; they head to their desk with nothing but their normal banter between them, even if Ryan’s a little more excitable than usual. Shane sends him a secret grin across the top of their desktop screens, and Ryan grins back, but, conscious of the ever-present cameras around them, resists the urge to play footsie.

Sara and Shane head home together, and Ryan goes back to his place, and that’s Monday.

Tuesday comes around, and Ryan— he’s not itching for a workplace confrontation, exactly, but maybe he thought they would’ve proposed another date (like, in a non-emoji-based format) by now. Maybe he’s a little worried that he overstepped.

And maybe by the time Shane comes back from lunch, Ryan finds himself suddenly available to assist on a couple Ladylike shoots.

He’s not avoiding Sara and Shane, precisely — at least, that’s what he tells himself — but he’s just leaving it open for them to say what they want first. Ryan is prone to anxiety, he knows that, but it’s hard to misinterpret three days of radio silence, right? And God, the worst thing Ryan can imagine is having been so fucking obnoxious that Shane and Sara figured— that they figured this would be something they could do for him, that they figured Ryan was so lonely they could just give him a nice cake and a few kisses to shut him up. Obviously that doesn’t really make any sense, but the only other conclusion — that Sara and Shane actively want him to be part of their relationship — has become so unfathomable that Ryan doesn’t even want to entertain it.

Maybe if Ryan never brings it up, they’ll never have to talk about it and they can just forget it happened. This is obviously the best way to deal with this situation, and Ryan feels no shame whatsoever in retreating to his own little world for the foreseeable future to avoid the fallout.

On Thursday, though, Shane asks him out for lunch, and Ryan, because he’s a goddamn sucker with less commitment to his own self-care than perhaps anything else on the planet, says yes.

They end up eating Chipotle at a table outside, sweating in the ninety degree weather. Ryan doesn’t want to move things to the comfort of Buzzfeed air conditioning, though; getting some distance from the office, even if it’s still in view, feels important for this conversation. 

“I just wanted to say,” Shane says into his burrito, cutting into the awkward small talk about work and the line up at Chipotle and how hot it is, “if— on Friday, if Sara and I pressured you into anything—”

“Wha— Huh?” This is not how Ryan thought this would go. “What? No. What are you talking about?” He stops himself from saying another variation on _What? No_ , but it’s a close call.

“Ryan. It’s super obvious that you’ve been avoiding us, and we— I’m sure it’s been obvious for weeks now that we’re into you, but it doesn’t have to be— we can just forget about it. Please don’t feel like you have to avoid us just because we have some complicated feelings.” Shane’s mouth twists into a frown. “I mean, if you— if you want to avoid us because, because that’s more comfortable for you, I totally understand. I just hope that you’ll, you know. Still be friends with us. With me.” He laughs, and Ryan, who is himself a strong proponent of the fake laugh, cringes at how empty it is. “It feels weird to be talking in the plural all the time, right? Like oh, look at me, I’m using the royal we! Just call me Elizabeth at this point.”

“I thought _you guys_ weren’t into _me_ ,” Ryan says, which, now that Shane’s laid it all out like that, is kind of a stupid thing to have assumed.

Shane clearly agrees. “We invited you over! We made you a nice dinner and, and, and did all that stuff!”

“I mean, I’d do that if I wanted to have a threesome, too. Doesn’t mean I want, like, a relationship.” Ryan snaps his mouth shut. Ohhh, fuck. Shane — Shane didn’t bring up relationships. Ryan jumped to conclusions. He landed in a field of conclusions before he’d even gotten clearance for takeoff.

“Well, we do,” Shane says, oblivious to Ryan’s inner panic. “Want to be in a relationship with you, I mean.”

“Oh.” Ryan, who has been clutching his burrito as a safety net this whole time, sets it down. “ _Oh_.”

“Ryan?” Shane waves his hand in front of Ryan’s eyes. “You in there, buddy?”

“I’m so stupid. Like, you guys are stupid, because my crush has been super obvious from day one, but I’m really stupid, too.”

“If you thought we weren’t into you, then yeah, I’d have to agree.”

“I mean, I thought—” Ryan cuts himself off. Shane doesn’t need to be privy to his inner workings just yet.

Shane eyes him suspiciously, but lets it go for now, in favor of his burrito.

In the silence that follows, Ryan watches Shane chow down on his food. It’s probably embarrassing that Ryan finds the way he _chews_ endearing. There’s no logical reason for it — he’s not particularly suave or noble looking or anything — except for the fact that Ryan enjoys seeing Shane enjoy himself, taking extravagant bites of something delicious.

“So,” Shane says eventually, “do you want to come over on Saturday?”

Ryan swallows his own food. He doesn’t want to be the asshole who pulls out a Google calendar to see if he’s free for a date, so he runs through his plans mentally. He doesn’t think there’s a conflict, and if there is, someone else is getting booted. “Sure, what time?”

“Around 7, I guess, if you wanna come for dinner.” Then Shane adds, “I mean, we can go out for dinner, or do something else. It doesn’t have to be—”

Feeling bold, Ryan says, “But if I want to kiss you we have to be inside,” and watches in delight as Shane blushes.

“Okay, yeah, come over to our place, then,” Shane says, and takes a sip of his drink.

Ryan grins. “Seven, then?”

“Yeah.” Shane’s mouth curls up into a small, satisfied smile, and Ryan’s grin softens involuntarily. Ah fuck, he’s _cute_. “It’s a date.”

* * *

Date number two, unsurprisingly, gets off to a better start than their first, largely because Ryan’s aware that it’s a date from the get go. He brings flowers, which Shane puts in a vase with only minimal ribbing, and kisses Sara on the cheek when he enters.

In fact, it goes well enough that by the time the sun sets, Ryan’s on Sara and Shane’s bed, a crick developing in his neck as he leans back so Shane can kiss him, his hand feeling Ryan up with enthusiasm. Sara’s next to him, and maybe two weeks ago Ryan would’ve been mortified at the idea of anyone witnessing him melting into the bed at a kiss from Shane of all people, but it all feels surprisingly natural.

Ryan would like to think that he’s not inherently an awkward person. He does, however, feel compelled to confess his lack of experience to his — partners, he supposes. His boyfriend and girlfriend? “I— I feel like I should just say, this is my first time with. Uh. Two people.” He doesn’t say that this is his first time with a guy, because that’s way more embarrassing in this, the year of our Lord 20gayteen, and hopefully he can hide all his inexperience behind threesome-related awkwardness.

“What?” Shane’s hand stops roving up Ryan’s shirt. “How is that— But you’re _hot_.”

“What?” Ryan echoes, and then shakes his head. “That’s— okay then, anyway, I’m just putting it out there. That’s all.”

“That’s fine,” Sara says, and kisses Ryan quickly. “It’s not a big deal. Obviously.”

“Obviously,” Ryan repeats unconsciously, because he’s lost all ability to hold a conversation. Once he gathers his wits, he continues, “I mean, yeah, you guys aren’t— what I mean is, I assumed it wouldn’t be a big deal, but just. I don’t know what’s, like, normal. What the etiquette is. In a threesome.” Because he’s the kind of person who has threesomes now, apparently. What the fuck.

“Okay.” Shane kisses Ryan, and Ryan can feel himself relax at the touch. “Sorry, I shoulda said— it’s cool, obviously it’s cool. You’re doing amazing so far, by the way.”

“Buttering me up, Madej?” Ryan snarks, because he can’t really deal with sincerity from Shane.

“I dunno,” Shane says as he steps back, unbuttoning his shirt. “I hear flattery might get a cute guy like you to make a stitch with a fella like me.”

“Make a— what the _fuck_ , Shane.” Admittedly, Ryan’s heart isn’t in the banter; he’s fixated on the flushed skin Shane’s revealing, the collarbone and chest and abdomen that Ryan’s seen before, sure, but never like this; never like a gift that’s come easy, never like something Ryan gets to have, gets to look at as long as he wants.

“19th century sex slang is dope, my dude,” Shane says, and his shirt’s off, and Ryan has to rack his brain to think back to what they were talking about. Christ, the man just does not stop, does he?

“Are you always like this?” Ryan turns to Sara, his ally in the trenches. “Is he always like this?”

She sighs, dramatically. “A cross I’ve borne since time immemorial.”

“You love it,” Shane says, and kisses her right as she’s rolling her eyes. Ryan watches, close, close enough to touch, and so he does; puts his hand on Sara’s back, kissing her upper arm, her shoulder, her cheek, his own face dangerously close to Shane’s. If he wanted to, Shane could just— and he does, he slips from Sara’s mouth to Ryan’s easily, like it’s a transition they’ve done a thousand times. Ryan sighs into the kiss, fingers flexing against Sara’s back.

“I feel underdressed,” Shane says.

“Put on a show for us,” Sara counters, and scoots back on the bed. Ryan looks between them and follows Sara’s lead, shuffling back until his ass is closer to the center of the bed.

“I’m almost embarrassed to with Mr. Crossfit right there.”

“Dude,” Ryan says, because there’s something like real insecurity there, which is so disconcerting to hear in Shane’s voice that he panics. “That’s not— you know you’re, like, fucking, so hot, right?”

It’s not his most eloquent, but Shane ducks his head, blushing prettily anyway. Ryan is almost compelled to offer something a little more romantic than ‘like, fucking, so hot,’ but he just can’t make his voice form the words. The moment passes, and Sara says, “At least— I mean, you know you don’t have to, but— you could take your pants off. Slow.”

They’ve been dating for years, of course it’s easy for them, but Ryan still marvels at the way Sara says it so casually. As though she’s used to Shane stripping for her. As though Shane’s used to stripping for her. Christ. Ryan presses a hand against his dick, suddenly so overwhelmed he can’t stand it. “Fuck—”

“You’d like that?” Shane keeps his eyes on Ryan as he pulls off his belt — oh Christ, why’d he have to wear a _belt_ — sliding it through the loops, smooth and slow like he’s some fucking, God, Ryan doesn’t know, some belt-wearing sex savant. _That is a belt_ , Ryan reminds himself. _You, yourself, have worn belts before. They are a common article of human attire._ The belt finally escapes Shane’s pants, and Shane wraps it around his hand before dropping the coil on the floor.

Ryan hears Sara let out a breath next to him, and is deeply grateful that he’s not alone in his ridiculous new belt kink. “Turns out I like it a lot,” Sara says hoarsely, and Ryan looks over to see that her cheeks are red and her hips are shifting, just a little, against the bed.

“Shit, Sara,” Ryan says softly, and when she looks over, he has to pull her into a kiss. His hand hovers over her stomach, drifting lower, and he says, “Can I—”

“Yeah—” she whispers, and Ryan just fits his hand against her underwear, under her skirt, and she grinds against him in one fluid and elegant motion. He pulls his face away from hers to look back at Shane, standing there with his shirt off and his pants unbuttoned but still zipped up, mouth slightly open.

“You gonna come over here, big guy?” Ryan asks, and he’s a little regretful that they’ve skipped over the whole Shane-putting-on-a-show thing, except that Sara’s breath in his ear and Shane stumbling forward as his fingers unzip his pants and pull off his boxers are kind of the hottest things that have ever happened to Ryan.

“Jesus Christ,” Shane says, before he kneels on the bed, one knee between Sara’s legs, brushing against Ryan’s arm, and kisses Sara. His hand pushes up at the hem of her shirt, and she raises her arms in an easy, practiced motion, to help Shane pull her shirt off. Ryan watches, hand forgotten in the heat between Sara’s legs as Shane presses a kiss to Sara’s neck and unbuckles her bra, the two of them working together to toss it somewhere.

“You guys are—” Ryan’s throat clicks into silence when both of them look at him, panting and gorgeous. “Jesus. Lemme—” and Ryan reaches for the waistband of Sara’s underwear. “Can I?”

“Please,” she says, and he watches her legs lift delicately as he pulls her underwear off of her one-handed. “You two are—” She shakes her head, and leans over to kiss Ryan just as Shane starts to play with her nipple. “ _Jesus_ , Shane, warn a lady—”

“Absolutely not,” Shane says, and bends down to lick the one he doesn’t have between his fingers. Ryan catches a glimpse of teeth, and, enthralled by the look of Sara biting down on her bottom lip, the little cut-off gasps in the back of her throat, sets to making her feel even better.

Ryan rubs his fingers along her slit, feeling for her clit with his thumb. “Ry—” Sara gasps, and Ryan could live the rest of his life working for that sound alone, probably.

He pushes her gently onto her back. Shane goes down with her, one long, long leg thrown over hers, and watches as Ryan slides lower on the bed and says, “I’d really like to eat you out, if that’s okay.” He pulls his shirt off quickly, unceremoniously, and tosses it behind him onto the floor.

“Fuck yeah,” Sara says, and Ryan bends down. Part of it’s ego, maybe; this is the one area where he knows he has some practice, after all. He bites a little mark against the inside of her thigh, just above where Shane’s leg is touching hers, as he circles his thumb against her clit and puts two fingers inside her, rubbing up. Christ, she makes the most gorgeous sounds, and when she tightens around him Ryan breathes out a heartfelt “ _fuck_.”

“You look good down there, Ry,” Shane says, and Ryan kisses his way to Sara’s vulva, since that is what he’s here for.

He closes his eyes and licks around his fingers, and Sara says, “Shit, that’s—” and breaks off into a moan as he fucks his fingers in and out, a little, and presses the flat of his tongue against her clit. “ _Oh_ , fuck.” She’s wet— Ryan groans, and moves his fingers faster, and works his jaw to give her pressure and something real to rub against, and she says, “Shane, he’s so good,” which might haunt Ryan’s dreams for the rest of his natural life.

“Yeah?” Shane says, and he must do something extra special because she clenches down hard on Ryan’s fingers, and rolls her hips against his face. Fuck, his mouth is so _wet_. “Tell me. Tell me what he feels like.”

Ryan’s ears burn, and his whole face must be redder than a damn tomato, and it’s so fucking good. Sara moans, “He’s, I’m so wet— Ryan, you feel so good,” and Ryan has to open his eyes to see her. She looks down on him from her perch on a pillow, and Shane’s hand looks enormous on her breast, thumb casually stroking across her nipple.

Ryan uses his free hand to reach over and span Shane’s thigh, and grins against Sara as Shane groans into Sara’s chest, hips rolling up once, clearly involuntarily. He goes back to Sara’s clit, tongue moving the way she seemed to like the best, and is rewarded by her thighs clenching, tensing and relaxing around him, hips grinding. He moans against her, and she shakes, just a little. “I’m— you should keep— I’m gonna—”

Ryan presses harder, with his tongue, his fingers, puts his wrist into it, and her hand sneaks down to clutch his hair. “Oh fuck, that’s— that’s really—” Ryan looks up to see Shane pinch one nipple, bite the other one, and she clenches tight around Ryan’s fingers and comes, groaning deep, and Ryan feels his face get wetter. Like, a _lot_ wetter. He fucks her through it, and then the second she catches her breath she says, embarrassed, “Oh shit, did I just—”

“It was really hot,” Ryan says before she can get self-conscious about squirting all over his face like a damn sex miracle. His fingers are still inside her, and he watches as she twitches when he curls them again, revels in the way her chest and her thighs shake when he thumbs across her clit.

Eventually she says, “That’s— fuck, okay, that’s enough,” and Ryan pulls his hand away from her. “Jesus Christ,” she gasps. “Jesus _Christ_. Fuck, I really didn’t know I was gonna do that. That’s so embarrassing, I’m so sorry.”

“Shit, don’t apologize.” Ryan kisses her hipbone, and then just above her belly button, and then she pulls him up into a kiss and licks into his mouth, messy and obscene. “That was so hot. Jesus fuck. I want—” He rolls his hips against her thigh, once, and is suddenly struck by the fact that he’s still wearing pants. _Christ_.

Then Shane clears his throat and says, “Just throwin’ it out there. That was, uh.” Ryan pulls away from Sara’s mouth to look at him when he doesn’t continue. “I’m overwhelmed,” he says eventually.

Ryan barks out a laugh. “Me too, fucker, you think I’m not—” and he hisses as Sara’s hand presses against the bulge in his jeans. “Fuck, why am I still wearing pants?”

“Good question,” Shane says, and Ryan peels himself away from them with deep, deep regret. “You gonna strip for us?”

“Sure,” Ryan says, but he feels a little too desperate and horny to really put thought into it. He pushes himself up into a kneeling position on the bed, and runs his clean — clean _er_ — hand through his hair. “Uh, if you have suggestions, let me know.” He tries to think about what he might’ve thought was hot about men in the past, what kind of poses and movements show off the best aesthetic, but it’s hard when Shane of all fucking people was his gay awakening. He unbuttons and unzips his pants and rests his hand against his dick. Gratifyingly, Shane and Sara do seem into it, but they don’t exactly look overcome with lust; Ryan, feeling embarrassed, pushes his pants down faster, but Shane’s hand on his stops him.

“Hey,” Shane says, “try— uh, just, slowly.” He licks his lips, and Ryan, transfixed, slows down, completely by accident. “Yeah, that’s good,” Shane says, which, absurdly, makes Ryan so goddamn hard that he really can’t keep going at this pace.

He pulls his pants off entirely and says, “Sorry, I’m too—” and puts his hand in his boxers to give himself a perfunctory stroke. Fuck, it’s good, even if his hand is dry. He feels a little self conscious, but he can’t stop himself from humping up into his palm, biting down on his lip.

“No, that’s even better,” Sara says from where she’s relaxing, and Ryan grins at her. “ _Yeah_ , baby,” she says with an exaggerated leer, and Ryan laughs, the tension in the room dissipating suddenly.

“This good?” Ryan asks with a wink as he strokes himself, playing it up to cover his nerves.

He stops when Shane stretches out his foot to poke Ryan in the knee, which is one of the weirder things that’s happened to Ryan during sex. “Hey,” he says, as though Ryan’s attention hasn’t already been grabbed — tranqed and hauled into the back of a pickup, more like — by his ten foot long leg extending across the bed. It’s possible Ryan has a thing for Shane’s height. “Hey. Hey hey hey.”

“Jesus Christ, are you in middle school?”

“Question for ya.” Shane sits up, one hand next to Sara’s shoulder and the other on his own knee, the weight of it gently pushing his thighs apart. Ryan tries not to stare like a creep. “Can I… suck your dick?”

Ryan takes his hand out of his pants before he comes all over himself. “Fantastic delivery,” he says hoarsely. “Really— really sold the bit.”

“It was a serious question,” Shane says, not very seriously, but Ryan is beginning to gather that it’s like a quota with Shane. He thought it was just the show, but the man really does have trouble saying all the words with real emotion behind them, and Ryan, who is himself a fairly repressed frat boy, can respect the fuck out of that.

So he pushes his boxers down to his knees and says, “Okay, then, have at it.”

Shane maneuvers Ryan around until his underwear’s off and he’s lying on his back next to Sara, and Shane’s on his knees between his legs. “Thanks babe,” Sara says, and Ryan’s breath catches as he realizes he’s on _display_.

Then Shane gets his mouth on Ryan, and that’s— new. It’s good, _fuck_ it’s good, and he’s— Ryan knew Shane was kinda queer, probably felt weird about it six or seven years ago when they first met and Ryan wasn’t the enlightened post-Artpop bisexual bro he is today, but he’d never really spent quality time imagining Shane on his knees sucking cock like a champ.

This was a clear oversight on his part, because Shane is damn good at it. His mouth is hot and wet and _tight_ , and God, the look of him, mouth stretched around Ryan’s dick like it belongs there. Ryan’s fingers clench in the sheets so he doesn’t push Shane’s face further down onto himself, and his toes are curling and he can feel the sweat dripping down his thighs.

“Fuck,” Ryan says, in a vague attempt at validation, but then it spills over into the noises he can never seem to stop himself from making. “God, yeah, that’s—” and it’s grunts and moans from here on out.

“Wow,” Sara says, and rolls over to put her hand on the back of Shane’s head. Shane moans around Ryan’s dick, sending Ryan’s hips stuttering up before he gets control over himself, and then Ryan has to watch, eyesight blurry with how fucking hard he is right now, as Sara pushes Shane further down on Ryan’s dick. _Sex miracle_ , he thinks again. “Ryan, you’re so loud. To be clear, I think it’s really hot.”

“Great,” Ryan squeaks, and then groans as Shane swallows around him, tongue pressing against the underside of his dick. “Oh Christ, fuck, oh _God_ that’s good—”

Sara kisses him then, swallows his moans and curses, and Ryan’s thighs are shaking. It’s never been this good. He’s never gotten a blowjob so... all-encompassing. _Shane is a sex miracle too!_ he thinks deliriously, and then he says into Sara’s mouth, “Oh fuck, I’m gonna— Sh— _fuck_ —”

Shane pulls off of him to jerk him off, thumb brushing against the head of his dick as Ryan comes all over himself, his stomach, Shane’s chin. “ _Shit_ ,” Ryan hisses, and he puts one hand in Shane’s hair, just for something to grab, something to feel against his hands, as he kisses Sara.

“That was great,” Sara says, and then Ryan watches, breath coming fast and shallow, as Shane pushes himself up on his elbows and then is somehow on top of Sara in a heartbeat, pressed against her like he’s been desperate to fuck for ages. It’s almost too much stimulation for Ryan’s fucked out brain; it comes to him in isolated snapshots: Shane’s hips rolling against Sara’s body fast and instinctive, the bunched muscles in Shane’s forearm as his hand grips the pillow next to Sara’s head, the low and near-constant sound of Shane groaning choked-off noises into Sara’s mouth.

She breathes, “Shane, that was—” and Ryan is right there, Ryan is close enough to watch as Sara licks Ryan’s come off Shane’s face before she kisses him, mouth open and obscene. He wouldn’t say that he has a snowballing kink or anything like that, but fuck, Shane chasing the taste of Ryan out of Sara’s mouth is— it’s—

Then Shane, voice low and — God — gritty and hoarse like he’s— like he just got his throat fucked, Christ — Shane says to Sara, “I really wanna fuck you right now.”

Ryan sucks in a breath so fast he chokes on his own spit, and awkwardly coughs into his elbow away from the two of them. When he turns back, Shane’s laughing into Sara’s shoulder. “Dude,” Shane says, and Ryan joins in the laughter, too. 

“Sorry, man.” Once he’s gotten himself under control, Ryan adds politely, like he’s at a dinner party, “Please, continue.”

Shane shakes his head in disbelief, but then Sara cants her hips up and Shane, hands trembling, slides into her like they’ve done it a hundred times. Maybe they have. Ryan watches, enthralled, as Sara throws her head back into the pillows, as Shane grips her hips and thrusts in, a little jerky, a little uncontrolled. A bead of sweat drips down his neck, and Ryan has a sudden urge to trace it with his tongue.

He amasses the energy to sit up on his elbows, and then realizes he has no idea how to kiss Shane right now, since he looks pretty focused on what he’s doing.

Then Sara says, “Should I ride you?” and Shane nods and pulls out, and rolls over onto his back. Suddenly there are miles of skin to Ryan’s left, sweat-glowing and heaving, and Ryan kisses Shane’s shoulder. He watches as Sara sits on Shane’s dick, and God, the line of her back as it curves, her jawline as her head tilts back, the sweat between her breasts.

Shane whispers, “Jesus Christ,” and Ryan, frankly, is right there with him.

Then Sara starts to ride him in earnest, hands pressed against Shane’s abdomen, and Ryan does lick the sweat off of Shane’s skin, basking in the warm sex smell of him, the sound of noises trapped in his throat, his pulse beating under his jawline. “Shit,” Shane whispers, small and short, and Ryan watches as his hands grip at Sara’s thighs, then loosen, like he doesn’t know what to do with them. He watches as Sara presses a hand against one of her nipples, rubbing it easily between her fingers, and circles around her clit with her other hand.

“Fuck,” Ryan says. He’s not hard, but he feels pleasantly warm, vaguely turned on. The phrase _brain boner_ floats through his mind and he shuts it down hard before any inappropriate laughter can make an appearance.

Then Sara’s shuddering on top of Shane, mouth open and a little grunt spilling out of her before she bites her lip, closes her eyes, muscles tensing and relaxing as she comes. _Maybe next time we’ll make her forget to stay quiet_ , Ryan thinks. He really likes the idea of that. She rolls her hips, grinding down easy and slow, and Shane groans.

“God,” Shane says, loud and only half-coherent, and puts his hands firmly on her hips. His skin is flushed, damp with sweat, and Ryan’s obsessed with the small tremor in his forearms and the way Shane’s breath comes short and fast. “Lemme just—” and he fucks up fast once, twice, three times, and Sara leans down to kiss him and Ryan watches as Shane shakes apart, hand moving up to grip Sara’s hair as he moans into her mouth.

His hips stutter one more time, and then he relaxes, one long breath falling out of him.

Eventually, Shane says, “ _Je_ -sus,” drawing out the first syllable into oblivion. _Jeeeeeeeee_ -zus.

Ryan can’t resist, and he leans in to kiss Shane, and then kisses Sara, too. She pulls herself off of Shane delicately, and Ryan zeroes in on the spill of come glistening on Shane’s dick, Sara’s thighs. He thought he didn’t have a jizz thing, but maybe he does have a jizz thing. Maybe he has a Shane + Sara + jizz thing. He thinks he might be okay with that.

Sara chugs a half-full glass of day-old room temperature water from the bedside table, which Ryan thinks is kind of gross, before going to pee. “UTIs are no joke,” she says as she leaves, and Ryan nods as though talking about urination habits is something he’s super used to and finds totally normal, because he’s an Enlightened Bisexual Dude.

Shane snorts next to him and says, “That’s— she’s pretty frank.”

“I’m so glad you said that, dude. I thought I was the weird one for not expecting that.”

“I mean, UTIs are absolutely not a joke,” Shane says, and Ryan nods in acquiescence.

At the very least, the pee talk has helped Ryan recover from the fact that he had surprisingly excellent sex with two of his best friends for the first time. It’s a serious milestone and Ryan’s pretty proud of himself for not freaking out too visibly.

“Are you freaking out right now?” Shane asks, and Ryan thinks, _damn it_.

“No,” Ryan lies.

“I know you’re lying.”

“Fuck you, dude,” Ryan says automatically, and then winces, because Shane had his dick in his mouth not fifteen minutes earlier and it was one of the best sexual experiences Ryan’s ever had. “I mean, uh. Noooo. I’m not lying.”

“Convincing.” Ryan looks over and Shane’s got a huge grin on his face, at least, so he’s not offended.

Then Ryan thinks about Shane last Friday —  _I thought you were straight for so long_ — and tonight, nervous about stripping with _Mr Crossfit right there_ , and realizes he should maybe dig deep and find some emotional maturity for this conversation. He says: “I might be freaking out a little bit, but I had a great time and I don’t regret it.”

“Okay.” Shane breathes out, long and low and steady, and says, “That’s good.”

“Are you?” Ryan shifts up onto his elbow. “Wait, was this a cover? Are _you_ freaking out?”

“No,” Shane snorts. At least he’s more convincing about it than Ryan was.

“I’m serious. I don’t regret it.” Then the worst case scenario strikes him, and Ryan adds quietly, “I hope— I hope you don’t regret it either.”

“I don’t.” Shane leans over to kiss him, and Ryan melts. “I don’t regret it. That was great.”

“Sweet,” Ryan says, which was kind of a stupid response in retrospect.

Sara walks back in before Shane can mock him mercilessly, though, which is a blessing. She flops down on the bed, face first, on Ryan’s other side, and Ryan leans over to press a kiss to her back. She hums appreciatively and shifts around a little, and Ryan kisses the back of her neck, and then down her spine, until his neck starts to get a crick in it from leaning over too far.

“That was good,” she says into the pillow, and Ryan snorts.

“Sure was,” Shane says, and Ryan laughs harder.

“What?” Sara pushes up onto her elbows. “I love laughing at Shane too, but I feel like I’m missing the joke on this one.”

“It’s like you guys are, like, giving a feedback report or something. ‘Sex mission debrief, 007?’ ‘Mission accomplished, Q.’”

Sara laughs. “Sex was highly enjoyable, over.”

Shane _shhhhh_ s like radio static, and replies, “10-4 good buddy, over.”

Ryan wheezes, and falls back into bed. He should probably get up and shower, or brush his teeth, or _something_ , but it’s so much easier to be in Shane and Sara’s bed, with Shane’s comfortable and familiar heat to his left and Sara’s new and exciting presence on his right. Shane’s hand snakes over towards Ryan, and he tangles their fingers together, and Ryan thinks there’s nowhere else he’d rather be.

* * *

Ryan wakes up to an empty bed and sunlight streaming in through the window. The spaces next to him are warm, though, so he hasn’t been abandoned for too long.

There are voices coming from just outside the open doorway, and before he thinks to stop listening, he hears Sara say, “—ours. Like, actually. Ryan’s—”

Then back to the low hum of conversation, and then Shane’s voice clearly saying, “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves.”

Ryan knows he’s eavesdropping. He shouldn’t even be listening to what they’re saying, but his stomach twists anyway. Does Shane mean—  _what_ does Shane mean?

“He wants us,” Sara says, and now that Ryan’s listening, he can hear the clink of dishes, the sizzle of a frying pan. Are they making him breakfast? Jesus, he’s spoiled. When he tunes back into the words, she’s saying, “—in our bed, Shane, we gotta stop—”

Shane’s low voice interrupts her, and Ryan sinks back into bed. Then he hears Shane say, “No. You’re right. I’m being—”

“Insecure?” There’s a pause, and then she continues, “He likes you. He likes us. Okay?”

“How are you so good at this?” Shane asks, and Ryan, even though he feels super weird about eavesdropping, doesn’t make his presence known or force himself to fall back asleep, because he’d like to know the answer, too.

“I have less invested in him,” Sara says. Then Sara says a lot of words that Ryan can’t really hear, catching only _career_ and _show_ , which make it fairly obvious what she’s talking about.

“I get it,” Shane replies. Ryan strains to hear. “Fuck. What if we fucked it up?”

Ryan’s chest hurts. What if Shane thinks they fucked it up? _This isn’t your conversation_ , he tells himself, but he feels like the ground is shifting under him anyway. “Hey,” Sara says. “Hey, look at me.” There’s another pause, and then Sara continues, “Are you happy?” The hum of her voice as it becomes too low to be distinguishable, and then “—in our bed. Shane.” Her voice gets lighter, and she says, “Baby, he wants to _date_ us.”

“I know.” Ryan admits to himself that he’s fully invested in eavesdropping, ears straining to catch nuances of tone. He sits up to hear better, and once the rustle of moving sheets has faded, he catches Shane saying, “—don’t need to ruin this.”

“No, you don’t.” Then, probably, Sara kisses him, because that’s what Ryan would do. That’s what Ryan would want to do. “He’s probably worried about the same thing, you know?”

In the privacy of his own mind, Ryan can admit that that’s true. He’s kind of glad he doesn’t have to say it, though. He hears Sara add, “We have to make sure he knows we’re serious about him.”

Shane’s reply is indistinguishable, and with the gentle hum of their voices in the background (Ryan hears “your fucking waffles” and “twenty-two garnish varieties,” but without the sharp instinctive focus borne of hearing his own name, he can’t decipher anything more), Ryan sinks back into a light doze. He doesn’t hear anything else comprehensible for a long while, not until Sara says, “Go wake him up.”

“Yes ma’am,” Shane replies.

Ryan smiles to himself and rolls onto his stomach in an attempt to fully fall back asleep. He even succeeds, maybe, because the next thing he knows, Shane’s hand is on his upper back, and he’s pressing a kiss to the back of Ryan’s head.

“Hey,” Shane says softly, and Ryan sinks deeper into the mattress. Shane kisses his neck, and the bare skin between his shoulder blades. “C’mon, sleepyhead. There’s breakfast.”

“Nnnyeghhh,” Ryan mumbles into the pillow.

“Eloquent.” Shane slaps him — admittedly, gently — on the ass, and Ryan startles. “Up you get.”

“Don’t— I’m not a _horse_ ,” Ryan grunts.

He doesn’t hear a response, and he twists around to see Shane staring at him, hand resting on his ass. “Hey,” Ryan prods, “sup?”

“You know your just-woke-up voice is really hot, right?” Shane seems barely aware of himself as he reaches his other hand out for Ryan; his fingertips make contact, and then his palm, and then he’s got his whole hand on Ryan’s face, fingers playing at his jawline and thumb pressing in on his lower lip. He asks, hushed, “Jesus, Ryan. How the fuck am I supposed to deal with you?”

Ryan, frankly, has no idea how to respond to that. He pretends to bite down on Shane’s thumb, and Shane laughs, and pulls his hand away. “Okay,” he says, “breakfast. Food.”

“Yessir,” Ryan says, and Shane rolls his eyes and stands up. Ryan clambers out of bed after him, and brushes his teeth, and pulls on one of Shane’s shirts since he thinks coming to breakfast shirtless might be pushing it a little.

Ryan gives Sara a good morning kiss, too, like it’s a well established routine. He pours himself a glass of orange juice and a mug of coffee, and it all feels unbearably domestic. He might cry if he’s not careful. Shane puts a waffle on his plate and Ryan douses his feelings in whipped cream.

Eventually, if only so it doesn’t hang over his head forever, Ryan admits, “I overheard you guys talking this morning.”

Shane doesn’t look up from his waffle. Sara, holding herself perfectly still, says, “And you’re still— you still want—”

“Yeah. God, yeah. I don’t know if it’s smart, but you’re—” Ryan shakes his head and restarts. “What I mean is, I’m in this. I want this.” He’s starting to realize that despite how obvious he feels, he hasn’t been as verbally forthright as these two have been. Maybe he owes it to them to put something honest on the table.

“Oh, thank fucking God,” Shane says, and Ryan laughs.

Sara grins through her waffle, and says, “This is amazing. We’re great at communicating.”

“We’re all-stars,” Shane says. Ryan is hopelessly charmed when Sara high-fives Shane as she half-shouts, “Sports reference!”

_This is easy_ , Ryan thinks as Shane, in all his midwestern snobbery, pulls out real maple syrup for his waffles instead of the corn syrup Ryan’s used to. The whole morning’s easy, but not casual; Ryan thinks he could live like this forever, already half in love and overwhelmed by it, warm from the sun and Sara’s smile.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the final chapter!! i hope you have all enjoyed this wild ride - thank you all for reading!! as always, questions and concerns can be directed to my tumblr @agoodsoldier
> 
> also, i'd love to write more in this 'verse, so feel free to send me prompts via tumblr if you want to do that (fills will be posted on ao3 so you don't have to follow me or anything to get that sweet sweet shyanara content). i can't promise that i'll reply quickly but i'm also not sure if people would even be into that! so uh yeah just let me know :-)

Ryan gets a call from his mom one day at lunch, which is pretty unusual for them, so he’s already a little on edge as he answers. “Hey mama,” he says when he picks up, walking away from the Unsolved crew editing furiously on their laptops.

“Ryan.” He hears Jake in the background yelling about something, but he can’t even begin to eavesdrop because his mom drops a full on bombshell: “Your brother says you’re dating Shane and Sara. At the same time.”

“ _What?_ ” Ryan literally pulls his phone away from himself to look at it in disbelief. He sees Teej snort at his dramatics, and scowls at him before bringing the phone back to his ear. “I— What? Why would he say that?”

“Because it’s true, buddy!” Jake says into the receiver, and then Ryan guesses he’s gone because he hears a door close. He doesn’t even know why Jake is at their parents’ house, and at this point, he’s afraid to ask.

“So?”

Ryan has no idea what to do. It’s been almost three months since that first Friday night, which feels like both an eternity and the blink of an eye. He thought they’d have more time before the outside world came knocking.

He wanders around until he finds an empty office and closes the door behind him, since the last thing he wants is someone walking in on this conversation. “What do you want me to say, Mom?”

It’s as good as a confirmation, and her sigh crackles over the line. “Jake didn’t want me to bring it up.” Then, after a pause, she adds, “I don’t understand how— how it works, but you know I love you very much.”

“I know that, mama.” Suddenly Ryan is blinking back unexpected tears. He does know that — of course he knows that — but, to hear it laid out explicitly like that…

“My baby. What’s wrong?”

Ryan sighs. He’s not sure how to articulate the situation with Shane and Sara. They’re officially dating, all three of them, but Ryan still can’t help feeling like an awkward third wheel. And he _should_ feel like a third wheel, considering that’s literally what he is. He hasn’t told Shane or Sara that because it would only result in them trying futilely to reassure him. There are no solutions here; there’s no world in which Ryan _isn’t_ the third guy they added on to their already-functioning relationship. There’s no universe where Ryan got there first — or, rather, equally.

“Nothing, Mom,” he says eventually, even though she’ll call him out on it the next time he sees her. “I have to get back to work.”

“You work too hard,” she replies, like she always does, and then ends the call with, “If you want, you can bring your… Shane and Sara over.”

It shocks Ryan so much that all he can say is, “Oh.” His Catholic parents — loving and open-minded, to be sure, but still — inviting Ryan’s _two_ partners is… well, it would have previously been unimaginable. Then again, this whole situation would have been absolutely unimaginable to Ryan a few months ago. After a second he clears his throat, and says, “Thanks, mama. I’ll think about it.”

“Okay. Bye. Don’t work too much.”

“Bye, Mom.”

Ryan leans back against the wall of the office for a minute. He really does have to get back to work, but the idea of his _mom_ knowing about his bizarre threesome relationship with two of his coworkers is… untenable. And how the fuck does Jake know, anyway?

He leaves the room when he’s ready, and Shane is waiting just outside the door. Ah, shit.

“Hey,” Ryan says, not even bothering to act surprised. Of course Shane followed him. His mom never calls him, and Shane knows that, because of course he does.

“Everything okay?”

“Yeah, I just—” Ryan digs the heel of his palm into his forehead, since it feels like a good preemptive strike against the headache that’s sure to come. “My mom knows we’re dating.”

Shane’s eyes widen. “We, as in…”

“As in you and me and Sara.” Ryan closes his eyes. “I don’t— Jake told her, and I don’t even know how he knows, and I can’t—”

“Hey.” Shane comes over and, when Ryan doesn’t push him away, pulls him into a hug, right there in the office where anyone could see. Well, they are in a hallway that doesn’t get a lot of traffic. The contact feels good and comforting, but then Ryan gets too in his head about whether anyone’s stumbled upon them — if anyone’s snapchatting or instagramming or facebook live videoing this moment — and extricates himself from the embrace. Shane doesn’t seem too bothered, but Ryan feels shitty about it anyway. “How did she react?” he asks after a moment.

“She… invited you over for dinner,” Ryan says, fully without thinking about it.

“Woah.” Shane ducks his head to meet Ryan’s eyes. He smiles, and Ryan tries to give him a smile of his own. “So… that’s pretty good, I guess?”

“Yeah, I guess,” Ryan says. “It’s… it’s so fuckin’ _weird_ , dude. How the fuck does Jake even know?”

Shane shrugs. “We’re pretty obvious, I think. Like, I post pictures of you and Sara together all the time, and Sara gets you in her insta stories almost as much as me now.”

“But why didn’t he just assume we were _friends_? That’s like— it’s normal, that’s a normal friend thing!”

“Do you want people to assume we’re just friends?” Shane asks. Ryan finally drags his head up to look Shane full in the face, rather than awkwardly staring at his chest with his brow furrowed. There’s something in Shane’s eyes — worry, maybe, or doubt — but Ryan can’t deal with that.

“I can’t have this conversation right now,” Ryan says, and it comes out a little harsh, which is another thing for him to regret.

Shane nods quickly. “Right, right, sorry—”

“No, you don’t have to apologize—”

“Ryan Bergara, telling _me_ not to apologize?” Shane grins, and Ryan does, too, even if it feels a little early in an emotional moment to be pulling out a bit. He continues, “But okay, understood. Can we… can we have this conversation later?”

“Yeah, I—” and Ryan can’t help it, he’s a nervous guy, okay, and he blurts out, “You’re not gonna break up with me, are you?”

“ _What_?” Shane steps forward and, looking left and right for witnesses, gives Ryan a quick but deep kiss. He steps back. “No, Ryan, of course not— have I made you feel like—”

“No, you haven’t done anything, I’m just—”

“We’re having a conversation about our comfort levels relating to being out as poly,” Shane says firmly. “That’s it. No one’s breaking up with anyone.”

“Okay. Okay.” Ryan scrubs a hand through his hair. “Jesus. I gotta get to work.”

“Me too.” Shane grins. “Almost like we have the same job or something.”

“Shut up,” Ryan says, letting the fondness be a little more obvious than it usually is. Teej doesn’t even give them weird looks when they get back to the lounge. Ryan’s calling it a success.

* * *

The Conversation ends up happening that very night. Shane and Sara come over to his place, which is a rarity now that they’re all dating, but Ryan’s place is closer to his gym and he needs to get out at least some of the nervous energy that’s followed him around since his mom’s call.

They come over with takeout just as Ryan’s getting out of the shower, so he answers the door with nothing but a towel around his waist. That wasn’t exactly planned — he knew they’d show up sometime between 6:30 and 7:00, and okay, maybe he deliberately didn’t get home until about twenty after — but the results are fantastic. Shane visibly swallows as he opens the door, and Sara hones in on his pecs like a bird of prey. “Hey, guys,” Ryan says, stepping back to let them in. “Sorry, just got out of the shower.”

“Yup, noticed that,” Shane says tightly, and Sara laughs.

Ryan grins, and leaves them to make themselves at home as he puts some clothes on.

He returns to see takeout containers open on his coffee table and Shane rummaging through his drawers for cutlery. Ryan doesn’t go to help him, instead joining Sara on the couch. “Hey.”

“Hi,” she replies, and gives him a quick kiss. Ryan smiles, and kisses her on the cheek before reaching for his food.

Shane comes back to sink into the couch on Ryan’s other side, and they dig in quietly for a second. “Th’nks guys,” Ryan says through his full mouth. He gulps. “This is really good.”

Shane drops a kiss on Ryan’s temple before saying, “We gotta feed you! You’re out here workin’ up an appetite.” Ryan ducks his head, pleasantly embarrassed.

Once they’re done eating, Ryan clears out the takeout containers and comes back to the couch. He’s nervous, suddenly, the specter of the Talk looming over their heads as palpable as the Sallie house demon.

“Ry,” Shane says, and Ryan turns to him. Shane pulls him in close, so Ryan’s half on his lap, head level with Shane’s shoulder. “C’mere for a sec. Can I…?”

Ryan smiles into their kiss, relaxing at the now-familiar press of Shane’s lips against his. Sara’s hand strokes warm and comforting down his back; he never thought he was touch-deprived before these two, but he shivers happily every time one of them runs their hand along his spine, every time one of them tangles their fingers with his. He pulls back to watch as Shane leans across him to kiss Sara, and Ryan can’t resist pressing his mouth to her neck at the same time, overcome with heat and closeness and desire.

They pull back, but are still closer than they were at the start of the meal; Shane’s hand is on Ryan’s thigh, and Sara’s leg is splayed across Ryan’s lap.

“So,” Shane says, “I feel like we should talk about, uh.”

“Coming out?” suggests Sara. She huffs. “That sounds weird.”

“I know what you mean, though,” Ryan says. “Let’s— okay, what are the options?”

Shane counts them off on his fingers. “Out to everyone, including the internet. Out at work. Out to friends only. Out to our families.”

“Cat’s kinda outta the bag for the last one, at least in my case.”

Sara says, “Okay, let’s— let’s forget about that one for now. Starting from the top. Being out in public?”

They’re silent for a moment. Shane breaks it. “I want… it’s not a dealbreaker, but I want to be out. I wanna be able to talk about you both. I don’t like the idea of people thinking Sara means more to me than you do, when I—” Shane swallows. “When I’m dating both of you.”

Ryan almost wants to cave just for that, but the consequences loom large in his mind. “That’s— that’s so sweet, man,” he says, “but… I dunno, it feels like we’ll be exposing ourselves to more drama than we need to.” He realizes something. “Holy shit, dude. We’re _too famous_ to come out casually. What the fuck?”

Shane laughs as Sara says, “That’s the price of fame, baby!”

Once they settle down, Sara continues, somewhat sheepishly, “I agree with Ryan. I…” She sighs and leans back into the couch, avoiding their eyes. “It already sucks being a woman on Instagram.”

“You’re getting harassed?” Shane’s voice holds some barely-concealed fury, and Ryan’s right there with him. “What the fuck?”

“Not like— I mean, you know what I post, it’s not like that,” Sara says. “Just… like, someone commented on a picture I posted of Shane once saying they wished they had a girlfriend as ‘whipped’ as me. That kind of shit.”

That’s _disgusting_. “What the _fuck_?” Ryan spits out. “That’s unacceptable. That’s so fucked up.”

She shrugs. “I agree with you, but there’s kinda nothing you can do.”

“Jesus _Christ_ ,” Shane says. “I’m— Sara, I’m so sorry.”

Ryan takes her hand, and she plays with his fingers. “Yeah, it’s fucked. I’m just saying, if I’m already dealing with that when the internet thinks I’m a straight woman with a straight white boyfriend…”

“I see what you mean,” Shane says.

Ryan continues, “I feel like we gotta table the public discussion, at least for now.”

“You’re totally right,” Shane says. “I just… I hate this. Why the fuck—” He looks at Ryan. “Why the fuck do Sara and I get to be official? I hate that.”

“Is that what your gripe was with the poly theory on the eight day bride case?” Ryan asks, but Shane’s not smiling. “Shane. It’s fine. You two were dating first anyway.”

“That doesn’t matter,” Sara says. “It’s not about that. If things were different, I’d be equally happy publicly dating you, or you two dating each other with me as your close friend. We’re all dating each other equally, Ryan.”

“Yeah, okay,” Ryan says quietly.

“Maybe it’s selfish, but I’m just… I just don’t wanna have people commenting on my sex life when I post something on Instagram.”

“Of course,” Shane says, and kisses her cheek. “Sara, that’s totally fine. Going public is off the table.”

“Cool. So… being out at work?”

“Equally risky,” Ryan says, which is maybe hypocritical considering that he was in a damn Worth It Lifestyle video with Helen. Still, being out anywhere involves the risk of something going public, and at Buzzfeed, the likelihood of cameras following your every move is way higher than most workplaces.

“I feel like our coworkers are pretty discreet,” Sara argues, which is actually pretty true. Hmm. “And we’ll have to go through HR eventually anyway, especially since you two are both on Buzzfeed’s biggest project, basically.”

“You can probably guess how I feel about being out at work,” Shane says. “Plus, I’d really like to be, you know. Casually affectionate.”

Ryan can’t stop a smile from growing on his face. Still, he says, in his best baller voice, “Ha, gaaay.”

Shane rolls his eyes, and kisses Ryan softly. Ah, Ryan’s been outgunned. “Did that convince you?”

“You came close, for damn sure,” Ryan says. “Still, I… maybe this is too new for me. I dunno.”

“Fair enough,” Sara says. “Table for later?”

“Sure.” Ryan looks at Shane. “Is that okay?”

“Definitely okay.” Shane says, “Friends?”

“I know there’s already a lot of work/friend overlap, but as long as they know we’re not officially out at work and definitely not out to the internet, I don’t see why not,” Ryan says, and Sara nods. “Cool. That was easy. Last one: family?”

Sara says, “I’m not worried about it, I’m just… I want my parents to take us seriously. I’m worried they’ll think one of you is a fling or, like, just an add-on.”

Ryan deliberately doesn’t mention that it’s obvious who the add-on is.

“Me too. I don’t think they’ll be bad about it, just, you know, the seriousness of three people dating might not come across,” Shane says.

“How do you both have this relationship with your parents?” Ryan asks. “I’m— I’m _terrified_ of my parents knowing. And I still have no idea if my mom’s told my dad yet.”

“Your dad’s a nice dude,” Shane says.

“Yeah, he is! He’s a great dude! He’s also never had to deal with his kid bringing _two_ people to a family dinner, especially when one of them is a _guy_!” Ryan says all in a rush, nervous energy spilling out.

Shane blows out a breath. Sara starts, “Ryan, is that—”

Ryan doesn’t know how she intended to finish that sentence, but he admits, “I always thought I was straight until I realized I had a huge fuckin’ crush on Shane. This is a big deal for a lot of different reasons for me.”

“Oh, buddy,” Shane says, and Ryan thinks he’s serious for a second, until he continues, “your crush on Bradley Cooper was so obvious, though.”

Ryan laughs nervously, too fast and too loud. “Ha, yeah, you got me,” but he’s pretty sure they can both tell his heart’s not in it.

Sara tries, “Ryan—”

“It’s not a big deal, obviously it’s not a big deal, it’s 2018 and we live in California,” Ryan says. He’d almost believe himself if it weren’t for the way his voice catches on the last syllable in California, sending his voice upward like a fucking hot air balloon. Jesus Christ.

“Dude, I—” Shane’s mouth twists awkwardly. “I don’t know how to help you through this, man.”

“What, you were just cool with being into guys from the day you were fucking born?” Ryan rolls his eyes. “Fuck, what am I saying, of course you were.”

Shane shrugs. “I have really supportive parents and I had a musical theater stint in high school.”

“That’s so fucking funny but I’m kind of too freaked out right now to laugh at it.”

Then, out of the blue, Sara says heavily, “I don’t really have a sob story, except— I mean, I don’t talk about this with my parents. About being with women. It’s not—” She bites her lip and breathes in sharply. “I dunno. Somehow it feels safer to tell them I have two boyfriends than that I’m bi.”

“Woah.” Ryan looks at her, takes in the slight tremble in her bottom lip. “Shit, Sara, babe, c’mere—”

He takes her hand, and she curls into his chest, exhaling deeply. Ryan looks at the top of her head as she says, haltingly, “It really fucking sucks, sometimes, but it’s— it’s normal to be, uh, queer. It’s okay. It’s totally cool to be into guys when you’re a guy too. It’s allowed and it’s beautiful.”

“I—” Ryan’s embarrassed to admit that he’s a little choked up. He meets Shane’s eyes over Sara’s form slumped into his lap. “I really needed to hear that.”

Sara presses a light kiss to the skin between his collarbones, then one just under his jawline, and then his mouth. She doesn’t say anything, but he reads her hurt, her exhaustion, her care in the steady grip of her hands on his shoulders.

He closes his eyes, leans his forehead against Sara’s for a second, before pulling back. “Okay, we’re cool. Gay crisis solved for today.”

“For real?” Shane scoots in closer to Ryan to lay his hand on his waist. “I— This doesn’t have to be easy, we can talk about it—”

“Clearly you wouldn’t know what to say,” Ryan says, smiling so Shane knows he’s not really mad.

Even so, Shane says seriously, “Yeah, I’m— I’m sorry, I can be better—”

“It’s fine, dude. Just—” Ryan kisses his jaw, mostly because he can’t sit up straight enough to reach Shane’s cheek. Why the fuck is he so _tall_?

Shane pulls him up to kiss him properly, and then Ryan’s in Shane’s lap. Sara’s right _there_ , hand steady on Ryan’s back as a noise escapes him into Shane’s mouth. Shane’s hands slide down his back, under his sweatpants, pulling Ryan closer into his lap, and then Sara says, “C’mere,” and pulls Ryan backwards. 

For a second he teeters awkwardly, and then Shane gets in on it, too, gently laying Ryan down in Sara’s lap. “That was suspiciously coordinated,” Ryan says, right before Shane leans over and kisses him, his hand reaching for Ryan’s. “To be clear,” Ryan continues, voice trailing off into a gasp as Shane presses a kiss to his neck, his chest. “I am not— _ah_ — complaining.”

“We’re committed to making you feel good. Teamwork is essential,” Sara says, and Shane laughs into Ryan’s neck. Then they’re kissing again, softer, gentler, and God, it’s good. Ryan could stay here forever.

Sara is stroking Ryan’s hair, which feels indulgent, like he should be paying more attention to her or something in exchange, but Shane catches his eye. “Hey,” he says softly, and presses a kiss to Ryan’s lips. “You—” Shane swallows, and presses another kiss to Ryan’s jaw, the space just under his ear, the bare side of his throat. His hands skate up Ryan’s sides, and Ryan is helplessly enamored by this glut of touch, the intimate world of this couch and Shane’s body and Sara’s hands.

“Yeah?” Ryan breathes when Shane doesn’t continue. Shane’s fingertips trace a suspiciously distracting pattern along Ryan’s abdomen, but he perseveres. “Hey, you were saying something.”

“You’re so gorgeous, you know that?” Shane says suddenly. He doesn’t even look embarrassed about it, as though calling someone gorgeous is a normal, everyday occurrence for him.

Ryan’s breath catches in his throat. “Shane,” he says, overcome with whatever this is —  _love_ , he thinks, and instantly shies away from — “man, that’s— Shane, you’re—” He steels himself, and, one hand in Shane’s hair, the other on his collar, pulls him down towards him. “You’re beautiful, and I’m so lucky to have you.” He kisses Shane right after, so he doesn’t have to look at him. Ryan is that guy, normally, the one who says sappy things without even thinking about it, but something about Shane and his height and their banter and — Ryan has to admit — the fact that he’s a _man_ makes it so hard for Ryan to say anything nice.

“Ry,” Shane breathes into his mouth, “Ryan, that’s— you’re so—” and he breaks off to press gentle kisses along Ryan’s throat, to push his hand up Ryan’s shirt to his chest. Sara’s hand cards through Ryan’s hair, and Ryan looks up at her. She grins and gives Ryan a kiss, too, upside down Spiderman style.

“I don’t think that’s what Shane meant to say originally,” Sara says, and Shane, regrettably, pulls back from the latest bruise he’s been trying to suck into Ryan’s skin. Ryan’s hand clenches and then relaxes in his hair.

“I—” Shane huffs. He reaches for Sara’s hand, and then she presses a kiss to his palm, and pulls her hand away from his to stroke his face, setting her thumb gently against his bottom teeth.

Ryan watches from below as Sara moves her hand to the back of Shane’s neck, and pulls him in for a kiss. Shane’s ass and his thighs are still resting on Ryan’s lap, but he’s upright, now, one hand on the back of the couch and the other on Sara’s waist.

They break apart, and Sara says, seriously, “Ryan, I gotta tell you something.”

“Yeah?” Ryan asks, and he would be worried if this were a normal day, except he’s still riding the high of Shane calling him gorgeous.

She pushes Shane towards the other end of the couch and off of him, and pulls Ryan up to a sitting position before sliding into his lap. She kisses him once, quickly, and then she pulls back to say, “I love you.”

She’s blushing, and she says it so fast that Ryan has to take a second to process it. “Oh,” he says, and then beams. “ _Oh_.” He gets his hands on her waist and leans in for a kiss, reveling in her arms on his shoulders, her hands cradling his head. “Sara,” he says, “you’re—”

“You don’t have to say it back,” she says quickly, “that’s not—”

“Sara, of course I love you,” Ryan says. It’s easy, now. What a goddamn gift. What a fucking beautiful day, week, month, year this is. He presses a giddy kiss to her mouth, and the center of her throat, the space between her collarbones. She lets out a tiny squeak as he pulls her even closer to him, until they’re pressed together from chest to belly, and he says it again: “Fuck, I love you.”

“I love you, too,” she says again, and grins, and he has to kiss the blush that hasn’t left her cheeks, and then her smile, and her neck, and her shoulder. He’d kiss every part of her all at once if he could. He looks over at Shane, who appears to be absolutely stunned.

“I love you, too, big guy,” Ryan says, fast and nervous but benefiting from the momentum of Sara in his lap, whispering _I love you_ into his mouth.

Shane’s mouth opens, and closes, and then it opens again to say, “I am so fucking head over heels for you, it’s obscene.”

“We get it, you have a vocabulary,” Sara groans, and Ryan laughs.

“Come here, you fucking Sasquatch—”

“I mean it,” Shane says, even as he shuffles closer towards them, “that wasn’t just a way to say it weird, it’s— I love you, and it’s absolutely ridiculous. I’m so in love with you that I can’t stand it.”

And again, Ryan is struck senseless by the way Shane seems to say it so easily. Where is his repressed midwestern affect? The sarcastic fuckery Ryan took for granted? Jesus, he’s getting outshined by the second. “Shane,” he breathes, and then kisses him, hands still on Sara’s waist. “You— I’m—”

“You have to know,” Shane says, reaching to undo the buttons of Ryan’s shirt. “You’re in this as much as we are, okay? It’s not— it’s not Shane and Sara plus Ryan, it’s all three of us, and I’m— I can’t—” and Shane kisses Ryan again, messy, abandoning the buttons to pull him in by the collar of his shirt.

Ryan sways into him, and Sara slides off him so that he can kiss Shane deeper, pushing at his T-shirt. “C’mon, take this— take it off—”

Shane pulls away to haul his shirt over his head, and Ryan has to kiss the exposed skin, biting a sharp kiss into his chest, his stomach, the space just above his jeans. “Shane,” he breathes, overwhelmed, “can I— let me—” and Ryan reaches for his jeans, and Shane tilts his hips up in encouragement.

Ryan’s hands are shaking too much to tackle the buttons; Sara leans over his shoulder to undo the button of Shane’s pants, and pull his zipper down, and Ryan rests his forehead against Shane’s abdomen. “You looked overwhelmed,” Sara says, and Ryan snorts.

“Yeah, no _shit_ ,” he says, and he bends down awkwardly to kiss her beautiful, clever fingers as she slides Shane’s pants down his thighs. The heat of them around him is unreal, like this is some feverish sex dream, and Ryan slides off the couch just to get some air.

He ends up between Shane’s legs, Sara’s hand resting on his shoulder, and he thinks, _if I’m here already_...

Shane gasps as Ryan presses a kiss to his inner thigh, just above where his pants are caught around his knees. “Ryan—” he chokes out, and Ryan pulls down the waistband of his boxers. “Jesus, Ryan, you—”

Ryan kisses the head of Shane’s dick, and instantly feels overheated as it twitches against his mouth. “This is how I’ll die,” Shane says, and Ryan ducks his head down to laugh into the crease between his thighs. “Jesus Christ— no, Sara, you can't get in on this, I really _will_ expire—” and Ryan looks up to see Sara scratching her nails down his stomach, biting his nipple.

Ryan hasn’t sucked a lot of dick in his time, but considering all of his experience is with Shane, he’s feeling pretty good about his skills by now. He presses his tongue against the underside of his dick, and goes as far down as he can, reveling in how full and fucking obscene he feels. “Fuck—” Shane gasps, and Ryan pushes himself just a bit further, swallowing around Shane. “Jesus _Christ_ — you two are—”

Shane slides his hand into Ryan’s hair, and Ryan’s skin prickles with heat as Shane’s fingernails scrape gently across his scalp. Ryan rubs Shane’s balls in his hand, and moans around Shane’s dick when his hips twitch up involuntarily. “God, fuck,” Shane gasps.

“You look so good,” Sara says softly, and Ryan opens his eyes. Shane’s other hand is touching her, two fingers in her and his thumb against her clit as she grinds easy and casual against him. Then she catches his eye and continues, “Next time we’ll spread you out on a bed, Ryan, and take care of you. Show you how much we love you.”

Ryan closes his eyes against the sudden onslaught of tears, because he’s not gonna be that guy who cries while giving a blowjob, what the fuck. Instead, he groans around Shane’s dick, and sucks a breath in through his nose and presses down even further, until he can almost feel Shane’s dick pressing against the back of his throat.

“You— you want us to do that, Ry?” Shane asks. His grip gentles, turns into a soothing caress down the back of Ryan’s head, a thumb rubbing softly against the top of his ear. “I’d love to ride you. Feel you inside me sometime. Just— let you have what you want, fuck, you’d feel so good—”

Jesus _Christ_. They haven’t done that yet — not because of any explicit boundary, but just because anal seems like something that requires more prep than a rushed dinner after work. Ryan has to press a hand against his dick as he thinks about that, on his back with Shane on top of him, feeling Shane’s ass around him, Christ—

“Or maybe— oh fuck, Ry, could I fuck you? Would you want that?”

Ryan has to pull off Shane’s dick. “Yeah,” he gasps, and his voice is absolutely ruined. He strokes Shane’s dick and says, “Yeah, fuck, I want that.”

Shane bites his lip and pulls Ryan back in towards his dick, and Ryan goes easily, mouth opening around him. “Fuck,” Shane says. “Fuck, yeah, I’d— we’d take our time, get you open, ready, and then— God, it’d be so good, oh God, I’d be so good for you, you’ll fucking love it, Ry—”

Ryan usually doesn’t swallow, but it feels like the thing to do, and he lets Shane’s trembling thighs press in closer around his shoulders, and he lets Shane come in his mouth. “ _Fuck_ ,” Shane says, and Ryan watches as he sinks back into the couch. “Jesus, Ryan.”

“Jesus, _Shane_ ,” Ryan says, and then he has to press his forehead against Shane’s knee and reach into his pants to jerk himself off dry like a fucking animal. “Fuck, you’re so fucking—”

“Oh my God,” Shane says slowly, his hand still in Ryan's hair, mouth moving too lazily to speak with any kind of urgency. “Are you seriously— did it get you that hot—”

“Yeah,” Ryan admits, and his thighs tense and relax as he fucks up into his own hand.

Sara slides down to the floor to kiss him, and he opens his mouth against hers, too far gone to really kiss her. “God—” he chokes out into her mouth, and comes all over his hand, his sweatpants, his own goddamn floor. “Fuck,” he breathes, “fuck, fuck, oh my God.”

“Wow,” Sara breathes, and pushes off her underwear to get herself off next to him. Ryan suddenly knows exactly what Shane was talking about before; he might _die_ from the overstimulation. “Wow, that— you are—”

“Can I—?” and Ryan reaches for her, and she lets him curl three of his clean fingers in her as she rubs her clit, hips grinding down in barely conscious movements. It only takes a minute for her to come around him, sweat and fluid dripping down onto his hand.

He pulls his hand out of her and she slumps against the couch, next to Shane’s shin. They breathe quietly for a second.

“Damn,” Shane says, and Ryan snorts. Sara joins in, and then Ryan has to kiss her, even if it ends up being more like them pressing their smiles against each other.

All too soon, they leave Ryan to make it home in time to sleep since it’s a work night, which feels like something either Very Responsible Adults or teenagers with a curfew would do. Considering the stains Ryan’s going to have to bleach off his floor, he’s leaning more towards the latter.

As he’s brushing his teeth, he realizes that there’s an easy solution to their too-short nights. He thinks about what his room might look like if he splurged on a bigger bed, or the fact that he’s been itching to get out of this building for a while now anyway. It’s too soon, that’s for sure, but the idea is appealing all the same: Shane and Sara and Ryan, living together.

Ryan sinks into his bed with a smile. He likes that; planning for a future with Sara and Shane in it.

* * *

Ryan’s totally forgotten why they’re at this bar. He’s pretty sure that someone’s celebrating something — a subscriber milestone or a birthday, or maybe it’s some holiday or another — but Ryan is way too fucking wasted to remember. Besides, with the way most of his conversations are going, he’s fairly certain half the people here think this is a celebration of his newly revealed relationship status.

“I can’t get over this,” Curly is saying, voice slurring awkwardly around the consonants from however many tequila shots he’s done. “You guys. Sara and Shane.”

“What about us?” Ryan asks, trying not to sound defensive. His hackles are raised, but only a little, since the liquor he’s downed is making it a little hard to feel stressed about anything.

Curly leans into him. “Nothing bad! Just, wow.” He literally pinches Ryan’s cheek. Wiping away an imaginary tear, he sniffs, “My little no homo baby, all grown up and living his best bisexual life! We stan an icon.”

“I— those are all pretty reasonable words individually, but Jesus, Curly, that’s a fuckin’ potent combination you got there.” Ryan takes another sip of the beer someone bought him to ‘get you to stop taking so many shots of fucking hard liquor. Jesus, Ryan, you’re not in college anymore.’ That someone was probably Shane, come to think of it.

“It’s true, though.” Curly sighs. “I wish _I_ had two sexy people to go home to. Your cuddle quota is probably amazing. You’re living the dream, Ryan.” Curly takes another sip of whatever godawful neon pink concoction someone else bought him, and adds, lower, “Plus, I hear that Shane’s _hung_.”

“Okay, that’s enough of that,” Ryan says, although he does admittedly find Curly’s support heartwarming.

He looks around and catches a glimpse of Shane and Sara in an alcove just around a corner from the dance floor. He stands up, and Curly half-shouts, “Yes! Yes!! _Kiss_ your beautiful lovers!”

“You can’t call them my lovers,” Ryan snorts, but he can’t deny the grin on his face. Curly sends him off with a shockingly firm pat on the back, and Ryan stumbles into Steven. Ah, jeez.

“Sorry, man,” he says, and looks himself and then Steven up and down to make sure he hasn’t spilled anything on either of them. “Curly’s got an arm on ‘im.”

“He should come ball with us,” Steven drawls, throwing up an ironic peace sign like the dank-ass frat boy he pretends not to be.

“Shut up,” Ryan says. “I’m just gonna—”

“Ditch me for your ghoulfriends?” Steven asks.

Ryan scowls. “Really?”

“Is Sara your ghoulfriend? She doesn’t come ghost hunting with you guys… then again, it’s not like you guys ever find any real ghosts to hunt,” Steven muses.

“Oh my God, why is everyone commenting on my love life.”

“Because it’s exciting!” Steven says, throwing his hands up and narrowly avoiding spilling about ten liters of some fancy cocktail on the ground. “It’s like, the classic office romance!”

“I feel like it’s not.” Ryan edges away from Steven, but can’t escape before he’s dragged into a hug. “Oh. We’re doing this.”

“I’m happy for you, buddy,” Steven says sincerely, muffled in Ryan’s shoulder, and then pulls away. “Okay, enough of that.”

Ryan would put up more of a fuss, but he’s really… he’s actually really glad everyone else seems to be cool with this. With them. “I— yeah, okay.”

Steven’s already wandering off in search of his boys (and Ryan seriously did not expect Adam to come, but he did, flanked by about ten interns who can’t stop swooning over him and his _camerawork_ and his _direction_ and his _engagement_ —) so Ryan spears through the crowd to get to Sara and Shane.

“Hey, babe,” Shane greets him when he’s close enough to hear them.

“Hey.” Ryan slides in next to him, feeling warm and comfortable and pleasantly tipsy.

“Everyone keeps congratulating us,” Sara says from Shane’s other side, and Ryan notices the mass of empty glasses on their table. “Keith just kept buying us drinks.”

“It’s because I’m such a catch.” Ryan flexes obnoxiously, and Shane leans over to press a kiss against his bicep. 

“Sure are,” he says, and Ryan, embarrassingly, blushes.

“I’m too far away from you guys,” and Sara, God bless her, just walks around the table to sit in Ryan’s lap.

“You never sit in my lap anymore.”

“You’re too bony. Ryan’s comfier.” Sara leans back into Ryan, and presses a kiss to his forehead. Ryan tries not to preen too obviously.

They’re in a private booth — not a VIP booth or anything, but they are tucked away out of eyesight from most people other than Ryan’s friends — so Ryan feels safe enough kissing Shane, and then Sara.

“Yes, baby!” Curly says suddenly from right fucking next to them, and Ryan breaks down laughing into Sara’s shoulder. He looks up, and Curly, who must’ve materialized the moment he felt something gay in the air, pats his head. “I’m proud of you, honey.”

“Shut up,” Ryan says, feeling himself blush as his friends hoot and holler goodnaturedly from across the aisle.

“I never get congratulations for kissing Sara,” Shane whines.

“That’s so sad, big guy. Lemme make it up to you.” Ryan leans over to kiss him again, and his hands tighten on Sara’s waist, one slipping down to rest on her thigh, and she presses a kiss to his cheek; they’re in a public club, too, but Ryan isn’t worried. He feels safe, and in love, and happier than he’s been in a good, long while.


End file.
